


The God Below

by ChubbyHornedEquine



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale HAS standards, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley deflects with humor, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Drug Use, He's also a bastard, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), JUST TALK TO EACH OTHER YA GOOFS, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), asteria gonna get yo ankles, aziraphale has zero sense of self-preservation, aziraphale is bad at communicating, crowley is bad at communicating, everyone in the below is a bastard, generally female-presenting Crowley, lol what no i dont also do that get out of here, someone let Beelz take a nap, use of one truly egregious directional pun that i will never apologize for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbyHornedEquine/pseuds/ChubbyHornedEquine
Summary: In order to have good crops, a spring & summer, every year someone is sacrificed to The God Below. (Hades/Persephone/A dash of beauty and the beast inspired AU.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 450
Kudos: 358
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Non Human AUs, Good Omens AUs, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Our Own Side





	1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

here's a village that has perfect weather for the time of year and has had perfect weather for as long as its inhabitants can remember. Crops do well, there's no drought, no flooding. In the spring the sky is an impossible shade of blue; in the winter the frost coats bare branches and winter berries in perfect crystalline patterns. Summers are never too muggy; the leaves crunch satisfyingly in the fall.

The town itself has the perfect amount of forest to get lost in, to forage, to walk and wonder. There's a bluff that overlooks a beach with sparkling sand and cold, crisp water. It is, in many ways, the perfect place to live, to raise a family, to settle and farm, to craft wares to sell at the market in the city. The people are kind, accepting, and friendly.

And every year, they choose one person over the age of 35 to be sacrificed to the God Below.

_~A Children’s Rhyme~_

Go little ghostie  
With the god below  
He collects all our souls  
And stores them in his throne

Go little ghostie  
With the god below  
He has a crown of teeth  
And eyes as cold as snow

Go little ghostie  
With the god below  
We have to give you up  
So all our crops will grow 

Ghostie ghostie   
He'll eat your heart   
Tear you apart  
For green spring leaves  
And a warm summer breeze  
Go little ghostie  
With the god below!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!
> 
> I'm so excited to share this new long-form fic with all of you! If you're here after reading Forever, welcome back! Thanks for sticking around! And if you're new, thanks for checking this out! This is my AU inspired by the Hades & Persephone story, with a dash of some Beauty and the Beast and whatever other tropes suit my fancy. It may get spoopy at times! It is the underworld after all. I'm thinking more atmospheric spoops than outright horror but we'll see what happens. >:3c
> 
> Character tags, content tags, and warnings will all get updated as necessary. This fic might have some angsty moments, a bit of hurt/comfort, but nothing near the levels of Forever lol. (I needed something just a little lighter!) That being said it may see a rating change for some smut down the line, so keep that in mind. This is a really ambitious project for a lot of different reasons and I hope you all enjoy it. Updates are _planned_ to happen every Friday but...life and the world being what it is, I won't make any hard promises.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments, I love reading them and always try to respond as I can!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

e hiked up his skirt, trying to avoid the mud. Anathema had warned him it would rain and he hadn't listened because he hated it when she warned him of intangible futures based on something like how her tea leaves had settled or the arrangements of the clouds that morning.

She was always, always right and he mostly didn't listen out of spite. Out of hope that one day she'd be wrong and he could go Ha!

His foot sunk into the mud and he winced. Today was not that day.

It rained, and then the sun came out, so it was hot and muggy and muddy and his hair was sticking to his forehead and he just wanted the day to be _over_.

"Hi, Crawly!!" a child yelled from further down the path.

He winced. He hated that nickname. It's origin was innocent enough, he _did_ crawl around, scouring the forest floor, foraging for this or that as a child.

And a teen.

And an adult.

But he didn't have an alternative and had been struggling to come up with a better option, hating his given name just as much. So he shrugged and he smiled and he waved back.

"Hey, Adam," he said when he'd caught up to him.

"Whatcha got today?"

"Ehhh, some mushrooms. Couple of berries. Few leaves. Usual wares."

"What’re you gonna do with it all?"

"Make a potion to turn inquisitive children into ducks."

"Why a duck?"

"Why _not_ a duck?"

He thought about that. “I thought witches turned people into toads.”

“Who said I'm a witch?”

“Everyone?”

“Uugh,” he groaned, throwing his head back. One dance in the woods with Anathema and he was forever going to be a witch for it. “I'm an _herbalist_ , not a witch.”

“Maybe you're both.”

“I'm really not.”

“An...herbawitch.”

“ _What?_ ”

“A witchalist.”

He threw a berry at the child with a laugh, “Go on! Find someone else to harass.”

He watched Adam run off and join four other kids. They exchanged some complicated series of handshakes and signs and poses. The ritual done, they gathered their toys, an alarming amount of which were basic tools, and tore off into the woods. The village referred to the group as The Them. Much like his own nickname, it’s origins were innocent enough. Flower bushes completely ravaged only to find flower crowns left on your doorstep? Oh it was _Them_ . Some kind of terrifying costume made of moss and thatch and twine and sticks strapped to your dog to make it look like it’s a giant spider barreling down the thoroughfare in the dark of night? _Definitely_ the works of _Them_ . An alarming amount of tiny snowmen appearing overnight in your windowsills and around your house, some with berries for mouths (that _will_ look truly horrifying as they begin to melt)? That one was his idea actually, but The Them helped make it a reality. They were an alright bunch, really. And unlike him, they seemed to lean into their nickname. Albeit with joyful menace.

He set his basket down and scooped his hair up off the nape of his neck. It was too hot. The summer had been a brutal one. He wondered what the God Below was up to down there. "Oy," he said at the ground, as his fingers deftly twisted his hair into a braid, "we're melting up here, calm it down!"

It was always like that though. The last couple of weeks before fall hit were the worst of it. Some liked to say that meant the sacrifice wasn't good enough to grant them a decent summer. Some said it meant the God Below was resting before unleashing winter. He thought it just meant Gods that lived in frozen wastelands below ground had no idea what constituted too damn hot and didn't know the perils of what humidity did to curly hair, that's what he thought.

Hair moderately tamed, he bent over to pick up his basket and as he did he noticed a crow sitting on a boulder a little ways down the path. It was staring curiously at him.

"Hello, you."

It cocked its head.

He rummaged around in his basket and pulled out a small berry, "I’ve got something for you."

It cawed in response.

"You can have it if you let me borrow your name."

All the while he stepped closer and closer until he was just a couple feet away. He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. "You see I hate 'Crawly' but it's as much my name as...well. And I was thinking if I change it to something kind of close then the rest of them won't make too much of a fuss, yeah? What do you think of 'Crowley'? That's not too bad right?"

The bird didn't move.

"Okay it's not _that_ bad. It's leagues better than Crawly."

It cocked his head and he realized it had blue eyes. Well that wasn't normal. "Sorry," he said, setting the berry down, "didn't realize I was talking to an immortal. I didn’t mean to offend you."

He didn't know what God or demi-god or _what_ he was talking to but he knew an otherwordly when he saw one.

"I'll leave you to it then."

He pushed to his feet and took a couple of steps back in deference.

The bird hopped down. Eyed the berry. They took it in their beak, eating it right there. Then they flew off.

"Huh," he watched them go. After a moment he called out, "Does that mean I get to use your name?"

Crowley.

He turned the word over in his head a bit. Feeling it out. Crowley. That could work. It wasn't quite right. Not quite there. But it was ...better.

When he got back to his little cottage he wasn't at all surprised to see Anathema standing outside of it. She practically lived there, eating all his cookies and bread, pouting until he made more, and giving him all the juicy gossip she had in return. He was, however, surprised to see Gabriel there.

Gabriel was the village….leader? Spokesperson? They had a council but really the village was pretty self sufficient, they didn’t have crime or theft or have to worry about wild beasts from the woods. Thanks to their yearly sacrifice, their lives were perfect. Gabriel did organize the Drawing Day and Sacrifice Day festivities though. And there was that one year, with the treasure hunt. He couldn’t really fault him that one though. The Them had secretly moved all of the items overnight and not even Gabriel knew where they were. So they’d been named the winners and still could be seen running around with the lopsided, poorly painted wooden crown on someone’s head from time to time.

Gabriel was alright, if a little vapid.

“Crawly!” Gabriel exclaimed as soon as he was within shouting distance.

He winced. Yeah, Crowley was definitely better.

“Hey Gabe. What...brings you here?” He stole a glance at Anathema who rolled her eyes.

“It's Drawing Day!”

“Yeah…” Cra-- _Crowley_ said slowly. (Oh he did like that.) “In a few hours, right? Down at the square.”

“Doing something different this year. Going door to door, it's a little more personal that way I think. Isn’t that nice?”

“No,” Anathema said flatly.“It's annoying. We had plans.”

Their plans consisted of drinking afternoon wine and eating whatever sweets Anathema hadn’t already destroyed and maybe eating some of the mushrooms hiding at the bottom of Crowley’s basket and talking shit about their neighbors. It was their Drawing Day routine. It wasn’t, perhaps, a very sensitive routine, all things considered. But it got them through it.

Gabriel held out his hand, a bundle of sticks in it. "Well, let's get going. Got a whole village to get to."

Crowley sighed and grabbed a stick at random, yanking it out of Gabriel's fist.

The bottom was red.

Huh.

He heard Anathema let out a small gasp. Gabriel went “oh!” in surprise.

He knew he should be feeling something. Thinking something. Maybe feeling a bit distraught. Scared. Concerned? Those were all normal reactions. Reactions he'd seen people have in the past. Lots of wailing and falling to their knees. He couldn't seem to muster any of that. All his brain seemed able to provide was the fascinated idea that the red matched his hair.

"Congratulations!” Gabriel said, grin wide.

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

“That was fast,” he continued with a laugh, completely oblivious in his usual way. “Barely gone to half the vill--”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Anathema hissed.

“RIght, right. Reveal time!” He opened his hand to reveal the remaining sticks and that they were all, in fact, unmarked.

Crowley nodded numbly in response.

“So,” Gabriel said, “we should talk.”

“What's there to talk about? I won,” he waved the stick for emphasis, “and in a few months I die.”

“Cee,” Anathema said slowly. She knew how much he hated Crawly and had been recruited to help him come up with something new but neither of them had had much success. He thought she might've liked Crowley. Now though, by the time they both got used to it, he'd be sitting at the sacrificial altar, under the night sky, waiting for the God Below to show up and well...do whatever it was he did to sacrifices. There was never any blood or remains left behind but that didn’t stop people from coming up with the worst possible scenarios.

"Cee," she said again. "Are you okay?"

“I'm fine. It's fine. Survived what? Three drawing years?”

“But—“

“Crawly,” Gabriel said. “We need to talk about the details, can I come in?”

“No. What details?”

Gabriel glanced around, “Perhaps we should move inside and—“

“ _No_ ,” he said, the first flair of emotion rising within. He hated that it was anger. “We can talk out here,” he said, forcing his voice into something a little calmer. “What are the details? I...take a nice bath, put on some fresh clothes—“

“Please do,” said Gabriel.

“And then I die.”

“Or not! Like I said, we're doing something different this year.”

“So you're _not_ sacrificing someone?”

“Yes and no.”

Anathema groaned, “What does that even _mean_?”

Gabriel turned to Crowley, (it _was_ Crowley he decided, even if it was only for the next few months), and grinned at him. He leaned in, putting one hand up to the side of his face and whispered in a way only a five-year-old thought was actually quiet, “We want you to kill the God Below.”


	3. Chapter 3

eelzebub followed behind Gabriel with a barely contained groan. Why, _why_ was he going door to door? This was going to take forever. And apparently every single other person in the village had the same question. No one seemed prepared to find the man at their front door, sticks in hand. Why didn't they just do it in the town square like normal? Beelzebub rolled their eyes as they watched a nervous villager draw and let out a deep breath of relief and hug their partner. Aziraphale was going to owe them for this, they had actual work to do unlike some immortals, and stealthily mucking around in the mortal plane to find out who the sacrifice would be in a few months should not. Take. All. Day.

They had never, for as long as they lived, quite understood the mortals of the village. It was clear no one _wanted_ to be sacrificed, and yet it was still treated like a great honor. It wasn’t as though people were in a rush to get out once they were old enough to fend for themselves, no. They traveled, sure. Went into the city. Went to school. But they came back! Raised families. No one, in the long, long time they’d been assisting Aziraphale, had ever cheated or rigged a drawing. Beelzebub could think of one time, off the top of their head, that someone actually fled the altar before they got there to pick them up. They were all so afraid and yet still so honorable about the whole thing. It was...weird. Respectable. But damn weird. Many other villages and communities and societies had let go of their ways. The world was changing and the immortals couldn't keep up.

Funny, that. You live for eternity and everything around is still somehow too fast.

When they stopped at the next house a crow flew down and landed by Beelzebub’s feet.

“What are you doing up here?” they said. Careful to keep their voice light, ethereal. It might sound like a breeze or leaves rustling to a nearby mortal. Maybe an insect buzzing too close to your ear.

Astraeus tilted his head.

“Are you supposed to be up here? Does he know you’re up here?” They squinted and leaned forward, “What’s on your beak?”

At that, he flew away.

“You know if you were coming up here I could’ve stayed!”

“Thank you!” Gabriel said with a wave, “See you next year!”

And on they went.

A young woman was sitting outside of the next house, staring intently down into her cup it seemed.

"Hello Anathema!" Gabriel called out.

"I'm busy."

"Is Crawly here?"

She didn't look up from her cup, only rotated it slightly with a tilt of her head. "Do you see him?"

"Well," Gabriel looked around, "No. But he could be inside."

"I'm not inside though, am I?"

Beelzebub watched Gabriel knock on the front door, wait a moment, and when no one answered this Anathema woman said with a shrug, "Guess he’s not here."

Gabriel frowned and then plastered a smile on his face. "Would you like to draw?"

"I'm 29 Gabe." She looked up at him then, "I know you need all your fingers to count so let me help you out, that means I've still got six years left."

"We'll gladly take a volunteer at any time."

"Eat me."

He let out a huff at that.

Gabriel was not...a popular person. Beelzebub remembered when he joined the village council a couple years ago. Anyone who survived twenty drawing years was able to vie for a seat. They supposed there was some discontent with him getting it over someone else, they didn’t' really know, mortal politics were a waste of time. If they had to guess, they supposed the man's persistent unsettling good humor and wide grin also had something to do with it.

"Oh," Gabriel said, "I see him. I'll just wait here then."

"Yaaay," Anathema said.

They couldn't agree more. Beelzebub assumed he was referring to the redhead coming down the path. He looked vaguely familiar in the way that all of the villagers looked vaguely familiar, having seen them for a few moments once a year for the past...ugh, too long. They were sure some of them must have started as children at some point and were adults now. That sounded right, what with the whole mortals-aging thing.

Beelzebub tuned out the majority of the conversation the humans had, choosing instead to focus on the hum of the insects in the ground. It was hot and muggy and they seemed to be enjoying that. When they looked up from the ground it was to see the redhead holding a stick, the end tinted a color that matched their hair. Beelzebub frowned at that. They knew full well the reality of what mortals liked to call "coincidence". The Anathema person had moved closer to their friend, Crawly was it? She was running a hand up and down his arm.

"Doing something different this year," Gabriel said.

“So you're _not_ sacrificing someone?” Crawly asked.

“Yes and no.”

Anathema groaned, “What does that even _mean_?”

Yes, what _did_ that mean? Gabriel leaned in, raising a hand to the side of his face. Beelzebub moved in closer.

“We want you to kill the God Below,” he said.

Silence settled over the small group. Crawly stared back at Gabriel and then slowly dragged his gaze over to Anathema who was still staring at Gabriel.

“You want me to what?”

“If you succeed,” Gabriel said, with that infuriating smile of his, “then you don't die! Win-win!”

“Not for the God Below,” Anathema muttered.

“Wh-why do you want me to kill him?”

Beelzebub couldn’t _wait_ to hear this.

Gabriel let out a long suffering sigh, as though he were speaking to children. “The God Below controls our crops, our seasons. We have to sacrifice to be allowed a summer and spring--”

“Yeah,” said Anathema, “that's how it's always been, Gabe.”

“But if we kill him, we'll have eternal good weather!”

Beelzebub dug their hands into their hair, gritting their teeth. That wasn’t how it _worked!_ They wanted to smack Gabriel upside his head. But no, this wasn't a Gabriel thing. Everyone on their council had to have discussed this and made a decision on it...

“How would you appreciate it?”

Beelzebub looked up at Anathema.

“What?” Gabriel asked.

“Without winter or fall, how would you appreciate a clear blue sky if you haven't seen an overcast one?”

“I--”

“Or the crunch of leaves,” Crawly said, more to his feet than anyone else. “I like the crunch of leaves....and fall breezes.”

“Ugh, I’m sure once the seasons are in our control, we can have a day or two of fall. Whatever. Your prize for killing the God. We can name it after you and everything.”

“I don't want that! I don't _want_ to kill a God!”

“Then don't,” Gabriel said with a shrug.

“Really?”

“Sure. Then you die and we'll just ask next year's sacrifice to do it.”

“But…”

“You can't kill a God, Gabriel,” Anathema said.

“Not with that attitude you can’t!”

Having heard enough, Beelzebub made their way Below. There were plenty of paths, doorways, secret ways to get in, but they preferred the more direct approach, just sinking straight down, appearing wherever it was they intended to be. And they intended to be next to Aziraphale.

The God was walking the perimeter of the Lake when Beelzebub entered the Below. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the shimmering substance. Prismatic greens and blues winking in and out on the ebb and flow of the otherwise tar-like surface. Every so often an arm or a hand might peek out, a whisp of hair, a pair of eyes before they disappeared below again.

"Are you going to join me, Beelzebub?"

They jogged to catch up to him, trying to figure out how they were supposed to bring up this turn of events.

"How was your time topside? Is it me, or are you back early? Was the drawing that fast?"

"Didn't feel fast, they went door to door."

"Oh, mixing it up! How fun!"

"Aziraphale..."

"So, tell me about them. This year's offering."

"Well he's...I mean--"

"Oop, one moment." Aziraphale squatted down near the Lake's edge and gently nudged the hand that had escaped off of the black sand and back the way it came. "Bup-bup, back inside you, you know better than that."

The hand retreated, sinking below the surface of the Lake with a barely-there sigh.

Aziraphale straightened up once more, dusting off his pants, "You were saying?"

"Well his name is...Crawly, I think."

"Really?"

"I dont think it's his real name."

"What an interesting moniker."

"He had a friend--"

"He has one, Beelzebub, he's not dead. Neither of them are, I imagine."

"He _has_ a friend," Beelzebub corrected with only mild annoyance, "she called him Cee."

"Alright then. Anything else?"

"Uh, I don't know, I didn't stick around for long. He's tall, got red hair, lives on the edge of the village, I think he likes to forage, had a basket of...whatever it is that grows topside. I think his friend is his only family so he's not leaving a bunch of children behind or something.”

"Oh that's always helpful."

"Yeah, sure, also, they want him to kill you."

Aziraphale stopped at that and turned to Beelzebub. Only the look on his face wasn't one of concern or fear or even annoyance. He looked damn near excited.

"Really?" he asked.

" _Yes_. Gabriel said they want this year's sacrifice to kill you."

"Oh how nice for them! What a challenge, that must be terribly exciting."

"Aziraphale!"

"Hmm?" He was already walking away again.

"You aren’t without weaknesses!"

"That's quite true. Although I'd be rather impressed if they could figure any of them out."

"That's not really the point here, though, is it? They want you dead."

"Did they say why?"

"They think you're _keeping_ spring and summer _from_ them. That you're forcing them to have a winter and that if you're gone, then they'll have eternal good weather."

"That's not how it works at all."

“I _know_."

"Well, when this, Crawly, was it? When he gets here I'll explain it all and--"

"What if he tries to kill you right away?” Sure, the mortal didn’t seem too keen on the idea, but a lot could change in five months.

“With what? A weapon? A _sword_? What's that going to do?”

“Well it would hurt for one. You're immortal, you're not impervious to pain.”

Aziraphale tapped a finger to his chin as he thought. “Fair. Although if it's right away I think he'd try to kill you first, when you go to get him from the altar, thinking you're me.”

They hadn't considered that. Shit. "Even more of a reason to be concerned!"

“I don't think it will come to that.”

“And why not?”

“Well for one thing, if they were going door to door it seems like they want to keep this whole God-assassination thing on the hush. Otherwise why not have the whole village ambush me, well…ambush you, at the altar the night of? So it would be a little odd if the offering had some sort of broadsword—“

“I don’t think he could lift one to be honest…”

“Alright then!” Aziraphale said with a smile, as though that solved everything.

“He could have a dagger!”

“Oh, what a little thing to be worried about.”

Beelzebub massaged their temples, “Aziraphale, I need you to take this seriously.”

“I am! Let's see, so broadsword is out…”

“Oh my god.”

“That's me. So that's leaves little things like a dagger or what have you—“

“What if it's poisoned? I got the impression between him and his friend they could put together a decent poison.”

“Oh,” he waved his hand dismissively, “that'd be only a few days discomfort at most. And that depends on how much poison, how big the blade is, how big the _wound_ is…”

“I’m going to kill you before he even gets here,” Beelzebub muttered.

“Mortals haven't had proper magic in ages, so that rules that out. You know what I think?”

“I really don't.”

“I think the smart thing to do would be for the offering to observe me for some time.”

“Are we forgetting that they might try to kill me, thinking I'm you?”

“Oh Beelz you're so dramatic. I’m quite sure you can handle yourself but if you're really that concerned I can send one of the twins up with you.”

“Speaking of, Astraeus was up there too.”

“Oh? What was he doing up there?”

Beelzebub shrugged.

“Hmm. Well, I'll talk to him later. Now, as I was saying, you won't get stabbed or poisoned or, I don't know, whatever other horrible thing you've imagined up. You'll bring him here, as usual. I will explain how things _actually_ work, as usual. And if he still wants to kill me after that then I really do think he'll try to study me first, get to know my weaknesses, lure me into a sense of safety.” He nodded, “Yes, I think that’d be the smart way to go about it.”

Beelzebub sighed. They didn’t want to tell Aziraphale how the sacrifice had reacted to the idea of killing him. They needed the God to be at least a little prepared. “You're not going to do anything to try and prevent this from happening?”

“Well we both know if it's meant to happen it's meant to happen.”

“Or,” Beelzebub said, and they could hear how desperate their voice had gotten, “if you're meant to _stop it_ , then you _will_.”

“That's true too.” He paused. “Although I don't have any immediate plans to do that so, must be the other way round.”

“Aziraphale, please. You're one of the last, there aren't many immortals left, even fewer that are _actual_ Gods… The mortals have been shunning or disavowing or _killing_ , they have killed others.”

“Hmm. They have indeed.”

Beelzebub stopped walking. They kicked at the black sand, “This really doesn't concern you at all?”

He turned to them and seemed to actually think about it. "You know. It really doesn't. It will certainly be a change of pace."

“And next year? When they task the next sacrifice with this? And the next and the next until _someone_ succeeds?”

Aziraphale looked out over the Lake, his tone a little somber. "Well...I suppose if they want to be rid of me that badly, then I'll simply go."

“But...besides their seasons there's the Lake. The souls. The _Fates._ ”

“Yes I'm aware. As, I'm sure, are the Fates. If I manage to do something that surprises them well, wouldn't _that_ be interesting?” And there it was again. That sparkle in his eye, the carefree quirk of his mouth. Beelzebub often wondered what circumstances led to this man becoming the God Below. There’d never been one like him, and the world was better for it. The mortals didn’t know what they had, what they were going to destroy.

Beelzebub sighed, and felt their shoulders drop in defeat. "Alright. So I guess...in a few months we'll meet the sacrifice—“

“Offering.”

“Offering and...hope he doesn't try to murder one or both of us.”

“That's the spirit!” Aziraphale said with a self-satisfied wiggle before turning on his heel and continuing around the Lake’s edge. After a moment he called out, “Come on, Beelz. Let’s talk poisons!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!  
> So sorry for the long time and no update. Life's been a bit..*gestures vaguely at world around*. But we're back! And I hope you enjoy this chapter. A mild content warning for touching on themes of grief and saying good-bye. <3

he sign came five months later. It snowed while the sky was a clear, soft blue, not a cloud in sight. It was a small thing, just a little flurry, but it was enough. 

Crowley had been sitting in his garden when it happened. And a few moments later he heard the sound of Anathema's front door slamming open and her running footsteps. Then she was standing over him and there were already tears in her eyes.

"Oh come on," Crowley said, "we've still got the feast."

Her lip quivered.

"You don't want to cry through the whole meal do you? You love the feast."

She fell to her knees beside him, wrapping her arms around him tight. And Crowley couldn't think of anything smart to say, he never could when she hugged him, so he just sat there, watching the snowflakes rest gently on his shawl.

They didn't melt.

He wondered if the God did that on purpose. 

Drawing Day was always mid-august. It gave the sacrifice fall and winter to be with their families, tie up loose ends, and prepare. The seasons, usually, went by as one might expect. Generally three months of each, although for reasons that could only have to do with the sacrifice's worthiness, sometimes winter came early. It would be the middle of October and snowing. Spring couldn't start in earnest until the sacrifice was received and they couldn't offer the sacrifice until the God was ready. And so, usually around mid to late February, there would be a sign. The most common was snow on a clear blue day. But there were stories of centuries past when the signs were different. They came in the form of a flood, a deformed beast coming from the woods and dropping dead in the village center, the wells would only pull up miasmic sludge and it would be clear by the next day. Horrific things. 

Crowley poked at a snowflake that had landed in Anathema's hair and watched it dissolve. This was the sign for as long as he could remember and he liked it.

The sacrifice was to happen three days after the sign and Crowley spent the first two explaining and re-explaining to his best friend his careful organization system of herbs and poultices and balms, of the watering and harvesting schedule for his garden, of the orders he had that were technically supposed to get filled after...he was gone. He left detailed recipes and instructions in his book as well as a set of copies in Anathema's cottage, in the water and tea and wine stained pile of papers on the chair in the corner of her kitchen because he knew she'd forget to check the book first and would, for some reason, default to that mockery of a filing system.

And in the evening of the first two nights they got very, very drunk until they fell asleep in a tangle of giggles on his bed or the floor of his main room, buried under two blankets and without a care in the world.

On the morning of the third day, the morning of the sacrifice, Anathema was already awake when Crowley slowly blinked his eyes open. She was rearranging things in a large basket, frowning down at it as though it had personally offended her. He watched her nudge her big, round glasses up with the side of her pointer finger before angrily jamming her hand back into the basket to further shuffle things around. Her hair was a poofy mess, sticking up on one side where she'd been sleeping, long and a bit frizzy. One year, in a fit of peak boredom, they spent an entire afternoon temporarily dying her hair red with some concoction of berries to play a prank on the Them. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember what the prank was, or why they thought it would work, because they couldn't keep all manner of bees and flies away from her head long enough to do anything with it. Eventually she jumped in the river, came out, and pushed Crowley in.

Crowley could feel the tears start to prick, just as they had been off and on for the last two days. She was his best friend in the whole world. The closest thing he had to family. And he knew he was the same for her. The thought of leaving his best friend alone, no one who shared her ridiculous sense of humor, no one who understood, or appreciated, her way of looking at the world around them, it hurt and scared him more than the idea of actually dying. He would do anything to spare her that.

She looked up. Their eyes met and her shoulders dropped and her brow furrowed and he could see the quiver of her lips. He knew she wanted nothing more than to crawl over to him and hug him tight and suggest they hide under his bed, what's the worst that could happen? And he would be tempted to agree. But they had decided, wordlessly, unofficially, that there would be none of that. This was how they lived. Every year there was a sacrifice. And they could spend their last days together making memories full of tears and hurt, or they could continue living as they always had, right up until the last seconds, and have wonderful memories to fall back on when the tears came. Because they would. Eventually, they would.

And so Crowley stretched, long and loud and obnoxious, making a face. He saw Anathema discreetly wipe at her eyes before settling her glasses back in place. 

"So," he said, "what's the plan for today?"

She pushed to her feet, lifting the basket up, "There's a hot bath and soaps with your name on it. A comb too."

He groaned, "Look who's talking."

She tapped his foot with hers, “Let’s go. The sooner we get,” she waved a hand in the air above him, “all this tamed, the sooner we can--”

“Go back to drinking?”

“You know you can’t be drunk when the God Below comes for you.”

“Exactly,” he said as he sat up. “Which is why if I start now I have time to sober up before evening.”

Anathema scoffed but still took his hand when he jutted it out and helped hoist him to his feet. He wrapped the blanket around him in lieu of a cloak and they made their way out of the cottage. Crowley stopped just past the threshold and turned to look back in. It was small, but it’d been his home for two decades. He’d built those shelves along the far wall. It was where he had his first kiss, his first heartbreak, so many times he’d holed up in the small room in the back, fighting off some fever or other hellish symptom from eating the wrong berry or flower. He’d had a fair amount of good memories as well as bad ones. But mostly they were all...just average. Normal, generally happy, and he was fine with that.

“We’ll come back before--”

“Nah,” he said, “probably better if I don’t.” He adjusted the blanket on his shoulders, “C’mon.”

As they walked, Anathema rested her head on his shoulder, “No drinking today.”

“Boring.”

“Mmm,” she said, pressing her cheek into his shoulder, “I don’t want any part of today to be fuzzy.”

The walk to the village square was short but the morning air was brisk and he was beginning to regret only bringing a blanket to cover his threadbare clothes. But he knew once the festivities got underway and the fires were all lit and roaring and people started eating and drinking and dancing, he'd warm right up again.

Already there were people setting up tables, stringing decorations of cloth and woven garland through trees. Food and drink, desserts and savory roasted this bird or that vegetable were being carefully carried from homes and down the thoroughfare. Every so often a child was sent off further down the path, where it went from the trodden down dirt of the walkway to a haphazard cobblestone. Where it winded down the hill and away from the village. Where it traveled close to the edge of the woods before leading into a thick copse of trees. In the center of which was a roughly carved wooden table surrounded on the side facing the village by a hedge of wooden pillars. It, too, would be decorated with garland and what flowers had suddenly blossomed during the sign; the table covered with various offerings of food and trinkets from everyone in the village. And on the ground in front of it, that was where Crowley would sit. And wait. He would be alone and the pillars were designed in a way that he couldn't look behind, couldn't see the village, couldn't even see the path that led the way back.

He pulled his blanket around him tighter and looked away.

Focus on the task at hand. One thing at a time. First, get to the meeting hall. Then get pampered, enjoy the first hot bath in...way too long, put on a nice outfit, eat some good food, have the single glass of ceremonial wine, eat way too many desserts, and then die.

Really it was like any other day. He just had the distinct disadvantage of knowing _this_ was the day he was going to die.

He felt a tug on his blanket and turned to see Adam standing behind him, the rest of the Them were a little ways off, watching.

"Hey Craw--Crowley."

"Heya kid."

They stood in silence. Adam kicked at the ground a bit. Crowley's heart ached for him. He'd just turned eleven and had been around for as many offerings, probably even remembered about half of them, but this was the first time it was someone he knew. Someone he talked to almost every day. Someone he'd played games with, came to with his scrapes, and confessed his secrets to.

Adam sniffed.

Crowley snuck a glance at Anathema who looked just as lost as he felt.

"C'mon you," he said, trying to keep his voice light, "you're keeping me from some nice hot water. I don't think I've had a real bath since before you were born."

The boy fought a laugh, "Ew."

"I know. Things are getting real crusty."

"EW!"

"Okay well I didn't realize I was talking to the hot water king. You've been taking hot baths? You've been holding out on me this whole time?"

"What? No!"

"Woow, I thought we were friends."

"Shut it," Adam said through a grin. "We are friends, that's why I came to...give you this." He reached into his sweater and pulled out the wooden crown from that treasure hunt.

"Wha...are you sure?"

"Yeah, we all," he gestured with half a shrug to the rest of the Them, "we talked about it. You should have it."

"Why?"

"Cause, y'know. It was for the winner of the thing, right, and a winner's kind of like a champion and you're, y'know," he swallowed and did a truly valiant job of keeping his voice steady despite his tears, "you're our champion."

“Oh…”

Adam held the crown out to him. The paint was worn and chipped, scratches and knicks in the wood all around it. Definitely a bit of water damage. Might have even had some moss growing on it. They loved this thing, they took it everywhere, and they were giving it to him.

He knelt down in front of Adam, “Put it on for me?”

He did and Crowley pulled Adam into a hug; he wouldn’t be allowed to touch anyone once he was cleaned and dressed and ready. After a moment he moved back and looked up at him with his best smile. “How do I look?” He knew his hair was still a mess, his clothes were old and threadbare and the legs of his pants grass stained, plus he was clutching an ages-old blanket around his shoulders.

“Ridiculous,” Adam said, returning his smile. “As usual.”

“Perfect.” He pushed to his feet. “Go on, all of my sweet, sweet desserts aren’t going to get themselves to the altar.”

“They’re not for you,” Adam called out as he ran back to the Them.

Crowley shrugged and said low so only Anathema could hear, “Yeah? What’s he gonna do if I eat a tart?” He looked at his best friend, “Kill me?”

She smacked his arm, quite hard too, in response. “That’s not funny!”

He grinned, “It’s a little funny.”

“Ugh,” Anathema turned on her heel and continued on to the meeting hall.

Gabriel was there, along with Hastur and Sandalphon. Where Gabriel constantly looked like a smiling painting that was vaguely uneasy and might come alive at night to further grin at you from the foot of your bed, Hastur looked a little like if toads could look woflish while possibly plotting something sinister and Sandalphon was the worst of the three in that he smiled vapidly while _also_ possibly plotting something sinister. Luckily there were two more people on the council, Agnes and Frances, who seemed to be the most normal of the bunch and kept everything in check.

“Goood morning!” Gabriel called out with an excited little pump of his fist. “How are you feeling? Ready to--”

“Die?”

“I was going to say get ready, but, yeah, sure, that too.” He threw an arm around Crowley as he led them into the building. “Unleeeess…”

“Unless?” Crowley echoed, deadpan.

“You kill the God Below,” Sandalphon said, and Crowley flinched. He was walking much too close.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gabriel shushed them as he peered outside. He came back to the group, “Don’t want the whole village to know, not until you’re successful! It’ll be a nice surprise!”

“Unless you're not successful,” Hastur said, “and then no one will be the wiser.”

“So how’re you gonna do it?” Sandalphon asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel said, “you’ve had some months to think about it, we’re really curious. It’s going to be a poison isn’t it? I’m Team Poison.”

“Nooo,” Hastur said, “you’ve got to cut his head off, only way to kill a god, everyone knows that.”

“Really?” asked Sandalphon, “I thought it was a big sharp, wooden thing right through--”

“No, no,” siad Hastur, “that’s--”

“Bath’s this way, yeah?”

The council members turned to Anathema.

“You all can stand around and discuss this, it’s riveting, really, but we have to get ready for the actual sacrificing part soooo, are the rooms prepared?”

Crowley pretended to burrow into his blanket for warmth but really he wanted to hide his grin. He loved Anathema, she was always the first to stand up for him when a customer decided they suddenly couldn’t afford to pay him or when they decided his medicines didn’t work as advertised (they always worked as advertised).

He followed behind her as Gabriel led them to the rooms. Usually there were two to be used, one where the sacrifice could bathe and dress and get ready and another for whatever members of the family weren’t directly helping with that process. Later the sacrifice would be allowed to spend some time with their family in the other room before being expected to make an appearance and join the festivities with the rest of the village. Crowley’s grin turned a little sad as he watched his only family shoo Gabriel out of the door and close it behind him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“Shut it and take off your clothes.”

Crowely did as he was told while Anathema started messing with the stone tub in the middle of the room. She tested the water, even though Crowley could see the steam billowing off of it from where he stood, and she started adding little sachets of herbs and whatnot.

The water was the perfect temperature, just south of scalding, the heat going straight to his bones as soon as he stepped in. Crowley settled in easily. He could pick out scents of vanilla and bergamot and just a hint of cedar. Whatever Anathema was rubbing into his scalp picked up the bergamot and carried it to meet sweet scents, maybe a hint of wildflowers.

Before long she stood and came around the side of the tub, wiping her hands on a cloth as she looked down at him. “Comfortable?”

“It’s so good, ‘nathema. It’s almost worth it.”

“Hm. Well I’m gonna let the oils sit in your hair a little longer.”

“You should get in.”

“I can’t bathe with the sacrifice.”

“How’s he gonna knoooow?”

Her mouth scrunched over to one side as she looked over the water, “It does look nice…”

“Just stick your feet in. C’mon,” Crowley shifted in the water, pulling his knees up.

Anathema looked past him and at the door. But no one was going to come in unless they asked for assistance.

“Do it, do it, do it.”

“Ugh,” she tossed the cloth on the floor and started rolling up her pant legs. “You always,” she lifted a leg over the tub, “talk me into” she put her leg in, “the wors-- _oh my go_ \--”

“Sshshsh, don’t summon him!”

She dragged her other foot in, eyes fluttering closed. “This is so good.”

“Told you.”

Anathema perched on the edge of the tub. They sat in silence for a bit. Just long enough for the quiet to unsettle and allow the sadness to seep through.

Crowley flicked at a bit of floating herb, “Don’t forget to water--”

“I know.”

He nodded.

“Oh, and don’t forget to leave food out for Princess. Once it starts to get warm she--”

“I know,” she said gently. “You told me.”

“Right. Right.”

Anathema leaned forward and squeezed his knee.

The silence didn’t get any lighter.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know? I mean,” she picked at her nails, “I know you know but I want to make sure that...you know.”

“I do. And I wish I could say I’ll miss you too but I won’t, will I?” Crowley shifted down further into the water, resting his temple on the side of the tub. “I won’t have the chance to. Not for it to really hit, to really sink in deep and rooted the way grief does. You’re going to have to bear that all alone.”

“Crowley…”

“That hurts worse than the dying, I think.”

She leaned forward once more, this time placing a gentle kiss on his knee before running her hand over the spot. “Let me do your hair. You like it when I do your hair.”

He shifted once more, settling back as she climbed out of the tub.

They didn't talk anymore while getting ready. Crowley closed his eyes and let himself sink into the feeling of Anathema's fingers in his hair as she washed and combed and tousled. There wasn't much more to say. Three words that will never lose their power, will never mean less over time. But unfortunately won't gain any strength. There's no way to imbue them with any more when you've already bled every bit of you into them. 

I love you. 

I'll miss you.

Don't leave me.

Don't forget me.

Please, be happy. 

The dress made for him was black, of course, and of a slightly heavier material since it was, technically, still winter and still very cold at night. The sleeves were long, the hem was long, it flowed around him and he felt a bit like a shadow, like he was already gone. Sewn into the hems along the bottom and sleeves were flowers, ones that had bloomed during the sign. They were purest sky blue with deep red centers. Crowley had never seen ones like them before and when he tried to lift a petal to his mouth Anathema smacked his hand.

For the final touch, he placed the wooden crown on his head.

Even he had to admit, all things considered, with his red hair spilling out over his shoulders and the pops of color the flowers provided, he was a little breathtaking. For a shadow anyway.

Anathema took his hand and gave him a wide grin.

Things were in full swing outside. Music and dancing, more small bonfires than a village of that size probably warranted, lots and lots of food, squealing children running around. As soon as someone caught sight of Crowley they started cheering and everyone joined in. Clapping and yelling and whooping like he was some kind of hero.

It helped, honestly.

And he knew, from being an onlooker for many years, from knowing the relief of not being chosen for three, how genuine that gratitude was.

And so he smiled and he waved and he did a little curtsy and joined the festivities.

Late afternoon slowly crept into night and Crowley was full on cakes and fruit and his one glass of wine. No one hugged him or shook his hand, that wasn’t allowed, but he still sat surrounded by friends and neighbors, chatting away. Anathema didn’t leave his side all night. Not until the council members approached them, faces set in friendly smiles, and told him it was time. He gave her an obnoxious, overenthusiastic wave before following them down the path; he couldn’t allow himself much more than that.

The council members tried making small talk. Well, Gabriel tried making small talk. The rest reminded him of his duties and not to leave the altar and not to touch the food and rule after rule and oh, if he felt like sharing just a hint of his plans? No? Well that was alright, they had confidence in him. And if he failed, there was always next year.

He sat on the ground in front of the altar. A few smiles, a giddy thumbs-up from Gabriel, and then it was just him. There were only a few candles on the altar, nothing that would keep him warm, especially not after coming from the comparatively sweltering warmth of the village. That was alright, he’d make do. Crowley brought his knees up, tucking the skirt around his feet, and folding his arms against his stomach. He rested his chin on his knees and thought idly that it was a good thing the villagers hadn’t decided to focus on his lankiness. What would they have called him? Bendy? How could he ever spin that into something not awful? Bend...ly? He chuckled at that.

A twig snapped.

It took every bit of self control he had not to give in to his instinct and run. Wouldn’t do good to run from the God Below. So he sat very still and waited for the god to show himself. He could hear movement off to his side. He clenched his teeth. Curled his toes and dug his nails into the palm of his hand. He would be calm and respectful and collected and--

“Psst.”

Crowley blinked. Did....the God Below just ‘psst’ him?

He looked in the direction he thought it was coming from but couldn’t see very far. The sky was overcast and the candles did very little.

“Um...h...hello?”

There was a rustling sound and out from the darkness and the cover of trees stepped out Anathema.

"Hey," she said casually. As if she wasn't breaking every single most important rule the village had.

"What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think I was going to leave you to wait alone?"

"Yes!" he hissed. "That's what's done!"

She shrugged and came and sat beside him.

"Anathema....if you're here he won't come."

"Fine by me."

"And then you're dooming the village to a terrible and long winter?"

She shrugged again, avoiding his gaze. She was the only person he knew that could shrug angrily.

He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, "You're being a little selfish," he said softly.

"I'm fine with that."

"How about...you read my fortune one last time, hmm? Tell me what the rest of my night between you leaving and the God Below showing up involves. Will I eat all the tarts? Won’t I? Who knows? Only you can tell the dessert’s fate.”

She smiled.

“And then you go back home and let me do my duty, yeah?"

He got a noncommittal grunt in response. But he also knew the one thing she could never ignore for long. "'Nathema. ‘Nathema. ‘Nathema. Emma. Emma. Emmm."

"Ugh! Stop butchering my name!"

"Come on, here." He gathered a handful of pebbles from the ground around them and held them out.

"I can't just use any old rocks, Crowley."

"Course you can. You're the best seer this village has."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm the _only_ one it has. I have my marbles, help me set them up."

Crowley cleared a small space on the altar and helped Anathema make a small circle with the round, polished stones. She set one in the center and then gave one to Crowley. He'd done this enough times to know how it worked. He picked an angle he thought felt right, set his marble down, and gently flicked it toward the rest. It knocked into one, which knocked into the center one (a first for him) before continuing on to hit one on the other side.

Anathema sat up on her knees, looking down at the results with a frown.

"Well?"

"This...maybe we shouldn't have done it on the altar, must've messed things up."

"Why, what's it say?"

"I..." she sighed. "You...found center. Not only that but," she gestured to the displaced marble on the other side, "you kept going."

"That's...good, right?"

"Yeah, sure. In any other circumstance it might speak of finding a sense of self that's been hard to grasp, since you've never hit the center before. It might speak of having a clear way through. And considering which stone it was," she scoffed, "it might even speak of love."

"But?"

She leveled a glare at him.

"Oh. Right. Dying."

"Ugh."

"Does that mean…” he wiggled his shoulders, “you're wrooong?"

" _Crowley_."

"Okay, okay. Deprive me of my chance to say I told you so."

"Let me try something else. I need a strand of your hair."

He leaned back a little, "No, that hurts!"

"Oh please," she said, plucking a strand from his shoulder, "you shed like a dog."

"Rude."

"Hold out your hand, palm up."

He did.

Anathema held the strand by one end directly above his palm and then let it fall down into it. She took his hand, tracing the lines of it and where the hair fell and intersected. Her frown didn't leave her face though as she sat back on her heels.

"Does this one say I'm going to get a pony?"

"It says...a friend is important to you."

“Oh…”

A small sound escaped her. A very un-Anathema-like sound. A sound he'd heard more in the past three days than in the entire lifetime he'd know her. She covered her mouth with one hand but the tears were already coming.

"Hey, hey hey," Crowley leaned over and hugged her. He figured if they were going to break rules may as well go for them all. "It's okay."

"You have to do it."

"Do what?"

"Kill him," she whispered.

Crowley took her by her shoulders, leaning back just enough to look in her eyes. "Have you met me?"

"But--"

"How many spiders have I escorted out of your place? And _into_ mine?"

"Hmm."

"And Princess Fluffybutt Longfellow?"

"Ugh, little bastard. She spent that whole summer pissing on my door!"

"And then she had her litter."

Her shoulders relaxed, "Oh they were cute..."

"Mhm. I can't do it, Anathema. You know that."

"But if you did then you could come back! If I have to choose between my best friend and some stupid god--"

"Ahem."

They both gasped and scrambled to their feet.

Standing a little ways away was...no one they'd ever seen before. The person was short, barely came up to either of their shoulders. Wore all black with red accents. Even their eyes were red. Floofy straight hair that at its longest maybe came past their ear. They were so pale.

Crowley wasn't sure how he found his voice but he did. "Are...are you the God Below?"

"No. I'm his assistant."

He looked at Anathema who stared wide eyed at him and gave a slight shake of her head with the faintest shrug.

Crowley looked back at the stranger. "Uh...no offense but we...can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"I’m _not_."

He swallowed. "B...being sarcastic or his--"

"Oh my god. My _name_ is Beelzebub. They. And it is time to go."

Anathema grabbed onto Crowley's arm, "I'm not ready."

"That's fine," Beelzebub said, "you're not the sacrifice."

Her grip tightened on his arm and Crowley pulled her in for one more hug.

It wasn't long before this Beelzebub let out a heavy sigh, "Alright, that's enough, let's go."

"Oh shut up!" Anathema snapped. "You've eternity and you'll only allow me thirty seconds to say good-bye to my best friend?"

The immortal stared back with wide eyes.

Crowley pulled her in again, putting his head on her shoulder so she couldn't see Beelzebub. "Please don't make a habit of yelling at immortals while I'm gone," he whispered.

"Guess you'll have to come back and stop me."

He smiled, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Crowley pressed a kiss to her temple, "Go on, I don't want you to see me go. Please?"

She sniffled but nodded and pushed herself away. Eyes on the ground, Anathema stepped back, turned and after a moment she started running back toward the village.

"Okay..." Crowley turned to Beelzebub. "What's next?"

"Follow me."

Beelzebub led him to the edge of the trees that surrounded them. "Oh," they said, "you're going to get dizzy."

"I--"

"Come on," they said as they pushed through the trees.

Crowley took a deep breath, standing up a bit straighter, and pushed through the trees after Beelzebub. For the first few steps he was walking on soft, cold earth. Patches of unmelted snow here and there, and then suddenly he was on hard, cold stone.

He stumbled. His stomach clenched and he put a hand to his mouth, swallowing reflexively.

"Oh right, nauseous too."

Crowley groaned and looked around. They were...in a room. Everything was stone. The floor, the walls. There was a bed, although that was carved from wood. Intricate tall posts at the head and foot. A wardrobe off in the corner. And a door.

"This is your room," Beelzebub said.

"My...room?"

"Yeah. So. He'll be with you soon." Beelzebub sighed, "You look cold. We'll send some tea. There's blankets on the bed."

"Um..."

Crowley didn't know what more to say and Beelzebub didn't wait for him to figure it out before leaving out the door.

He let out a deep breath. He could see it fog in the air. It _was_ cold but he didn't want to take one of the blankets. He didn't want to touch anything. Why did he have a room? Why...was there a bed?

He didn't have to stew in his nerves for long before there was a gentle knock at the door. Why would anyone knock? He was in the Below, this was a god's domain. "Uh. Yes?"

The door creaked open but no one came in, just a gentle voice wafting through. "Good evening. May I come in?"

"Uh, sure? I guess?"

The person that stepped in was certainly not Beelzebub. He was taller for one, closer to Crowley's height. And although he was also clad entirely in black, with gloves even, where Beelzebub's accents were red, his were blue. Like his eyes. The clearest, most piercing blue Crowley had ever seen. His hair was somehow both curly and fluffy and quite possibly a literal cloud. Crowley wanted to touch it.

"How are you doing?" the stranger said. "Can I get you any--oh the tea, I forgot it! So sorry, I'll--"

"Look," Crowley said, "and I can't believe I'm saying this but...you've all been really nice and I appreciate it but I'd really rather just meet this gu--god and get the dying bit over with if it's all the same to you? All this waiting around is just making me more anxious."

"Meet...the guy? Oh! Yes, of course, silly me. I did skip that part didn't I? Hello, _I’m_ Aziraphale."

Crowley blinked. He looked over the person in front of him again and realized he somehow failed to notice the thin crown on his head. Nestled in that fluff of curls was a thin gold band. It was so simple. From where he stood he couldn't see any carvings or design, no gems or anything that he thought to see on a crown. Besides that, he, this Aziraphale, was so...soft. His voice was so light and...cheerful. He looked a bit tired but nothing like what Crowley had been taught to expect from nursery rhymes and bedtime stories.

"Y..you're the God Below?"

"Quite right," his smile was small and kind.

"I. You. Bu...I'm sorry, I-I just..."

"Take your time. You aren’t the first to have that reaction." He walked over to the wardrobe, opening the doors, "I'll just take care of this, shall I?"

"I..y..yeah?"

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, tilting his head as his eyes tracked him up and down.

"Um..."

He looked back to the closet and snapped. Suddenly it was full of various articles of clothing. Dresses, cloaks, a few pairs of shoes.

"That ought to be enough to start," Aziraphale said. "I've gotten quite good at estimating but if anything needs alterations do let me know."

"I don't... What is this? Why did you--"

"I’ll be perfectly honest. Normally I explain everything right away but it's been a bit of a day and I just don't have it in me to answer all the questions I know you're going to have. You're not going to die here. Not tonight or ever if I have any say in the matter. I'll explain all the details tomorrow. Over breakfast!" He said the last bit with a smile and, if Crowley didn't know better, a bit of a bounce.

"But...I thought..." He couldn't get his mouth to form a complete sentence. He couldn't get his _brain_ to form one.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale said gently, patting his arm. "Over breakfast." He made his way to the door and stopped short. "Oh, I almost forgot!" With a wave of his fingers a gold key appeared in his hand, "Here's a key to your room, feel free to lock up when you turn in for the night. I've found you mortals tend to feel more comfortable with that option."

Crowley stared at the key and then glanced at the wardrobe. "But...you can just snap your fingers and get in."

The god let out a scandalized gasp, one gloved hand coming up to his chest. "I would _never_. I have standards."

"I..." He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Hmp," Aziraphale said. "Well, here is your key." He set it down on a small round table by the door that had definitely not been there a moment before. "And I'll see you in the morning for breakfast. Good night, sleep well."

The door closed gently behind him.

Crowley wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the closed door. But eventually he moved forward, numbly picked up the key and locked the door. He then sat on the edge of the bed, and oh it was _soft_ , and pulled his feet up.

He was the sacrifice. And...he wasn't going to die.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today marks one year of me writing & posting good omens fanfic <3

ziraphale walked the edge of the lake, his eyes following the steady ebb and flow. It looked calm, serene almost. But that was a far cry from how it was the night before. Several of the Remnants had pushed through, twisted in their desire to escape. He had been able to capture them, return the ones he could and...destroy the ones that refused to surrender. He didn't even need the twins to step in. But it _shouldn't_ have happened to begin with. Not now. Maybe in a few months. Maybe at the peak of summer when their taste for the living was overwhelming, but not now. Not before the first exchange.

“Everything calm?” Beelzebub appeared beside him.

“For now.”

“I've got this. It's morning, you should go see him.”

“Oh...right.” He cleared his throat, fiddled with the buttons of his jacket. “Yes. I should...do that.”

“Aziraphale.”

“I'm going.”

And he did. He went straight to the offering’s door and took a deep breath and...walked away again. Aziraphale made it to the end of the hall before he felt confident enough he could actually knock on the door and headed back with renewed determination. Which, of course, fizzled once more by the time he reached the door.

One would think, after so long doing this, that it would be second nature, easy almost. But it wasn't. While there was a general pattern to how an offering might react, the not-knowing beforehand was what made Aziraphale so anxious. There were the criers and the screamers and the paranoid disbelievers. He wondered what this one would be like. According to Beelzebub he was a murderer. Or a would-be one. The god thought back to the night before, as exhausted as he was from the events at the lake, he still thought he got a decent impression of the man in that room. He seemed...confused, they always did. But he didn't seem like a murderer. Aziraphale thought of his brilliant red hair and the spattering of freckles on his face and he felt a smile tug at his lips.

He shook himself, "No, no. None of that. We....will admit he is an attractive mortal and, having acknowledged that, we will think no further on it. Yes."

Off to his right the shadows along the wall and ceiling shifted and he stifled a groan; he should've known better. Asteria hopped out from seemingly nothingness and cocked her head at him.

Aziraphale refused to look down at the crow. "You didn't hear anything."

She walked over to him and jabbed his ankle.

"Ow! I'm _going_! Need I remind you there is a hierarchy here?”

She ruffled her wings in what could be an approximation of a shrug and continued on down the hall.

“Really,” he said under his breath, “the nerve."

Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to go down the hall. Oh, couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? Even though tomorrow he’d likely think the same.

“Are you kidding me?”

Beelzebub’s harsh voice cut through the silence of the hall and Aziraphale winced internally.

“Hmm?” he managed, as nonchalant as he could.

His friend came up beside him, arms crossed, “Asteria said you were faffing about in the hall.”

“I--wh--” he huffed, “I am a _god_. I do not…” he made vague, circular motions with his hand, “faff.”

The look on Beelzebub’s face echoed their ‘Are you kidding me’ but what they said was, “You have to go in eventually.”

“I know.”

When he made no indication to move, Beelzebub said, “That you means you have to go from here,” they pointed to Aziraphale’s feet, “to there,” they pointed down the hall and at the door.

“Yes, Beelzebub, I’m aware, thank you.”

And yet...he didn’t move.

“Why is this so difficult for you every time? You know what to expe--”

“Well, everyone’s a _little_ different.”

“A little. They tend to have the same reaction when they find out they’re not going to die though. It’s good news. You like giving good news. I would think this would be your favorite part.”

“It’s just…” He wrung his hands together.

“Just what?”

He adjusted his crown. Ran his fingers over the buttons of his jacket. Fiddled with his pinky, feeling the ring beneath the glove. “What if…” he said, his voice quiet, “they don’t like me?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, that’s me. But I--”

“Aziraphale--”

“I just want their time here to be as pleasant as possible and there’s really no telling how that will go. What if they don’t want to ever come out of the room?”

“Or what if they _do_ and try to _murder_ you? Did we forget that?”

Aziraphale let out a bone-weary sigh, his whole form deflating a bit. “How can I when you practically whisper it into my ears as I sleep?”

“I would, if you slept! Then maybe it would sink in somewhere.”

“Hmph.”

Beelzebub sighed, “Look, possible murderer or not, they were sent out as a sacrifice--”

“Offering.”

“No,” they said, staring up at Aziraphale defiantly, “in their village, in their _home_ , they’re called the _sacrifice_ , Aziraphale. They were offered up, as far as the villagers are concerned, to a monster, and you’re about to offer them food and clothes and tell them it’s not over. What’s not to like?”

He pursed his lips in that way he knew Beelzebub despised. “What if they don’t like the food?”

“Ugh, stop _stalling_ ! I swear to-to _somebody_ , not you, somebody _else_ that if you don’t go down that hall--”

“You’ll what?” asked Aziraphale with a smirk. When he became a god, Beelzebub and the twins were both already a part of the Below, but there was, truly, a hierarchy. There was nothing his assistant (and truthfully friend) could do to him. And they both knew it. He supposed Beelzebub could threaten to hide one of his books, but that wasn’t quite in their nature. They preferred a more direct approach and he was sure, if they weren’t barely five foot-nothing, they would try to physically drag him down the hall.

They groaned, massaging their temples.

“Quite right.”

“Well I don’t have to stand here and watch this cart crash in slow motion, some of us have actual work to do.” And with that they stalked off down the hall.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, tugged at his cuffs once more, and made his way down the hall. He knocked gently on the door. There was no answer. He waited. Knocked again. This time there was a low groan from the other side.

“May I come in?”

He heard an incoherent mumble in response..

“Terribly sorry, didn't quite catch that?”

There was a shuffle, the sound of feet padding across the room, and then the door unlocked and swung open. The young man stood in the open door, fiery hair an absolute mess, brow furrowed and eyes barely open as he clutched a blanket around him. He blinked. Aziraphale offered a small smile.

“Oh my god,” he said.

“Yes?”

“It wasn't a dream.”

Aziraphale made to move forward and the man stumbled back, making room for him to enter. “I thought perhaps we could have our discussion on the finer details of everything this morning.”

“...right.”

His voice was still groggy with sleep and Aziraphale noticed he hadn’t changed out of his clothes from the night before. Had what he provided not fit? He gestured to the far left corner of the room, “You’ll find your bath is ready. Hot water and all. It’ll stay hot as lo--”

“That door wasn’t there before.”

“No, no it was not. You’ll find the longer you’re here, the more different parts of the Below will become accessible to you. We try to start off slow and sort of ease into things.”

“The...longer I’m here?”

“That’s right.”

“Wait...you said last night I’m _not_ going to die? ...did I dream _that_ part?”

“Not at all!”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

The two stood there, each seemingly at a loss for what to do next. Aziraphale didn’t want to start explaining things or answering questions standing in the middle of his room, he wanted to sit down to a nice, wonderful smelling breakfast and have a pleasant chat. But the offering just kept staring wide-eyed at him. Oh his eyes were such a wonderful shade of brown, he imagined they must fairly sparkle in sunlight… 

“So…” the mortal said, “I'll just...have a bath then?”

“If you like. Someone will be out in the hall to bring you down to breakfast when you’re ready.”

“Right.”

“And uh,” he glanced at the wardrobe, “do let me know if the clothes aren’t to your liking.”

“Riiiiight, the magic closet. I...honestly thought most of this was a fever dream and I was going to wake in the middle of the woods dehydrated and half naked.”

Aziraphale felt his brow furrow. That seemed like far too specific a situation to be hypothetical and now he had so many questions. “Uh…I’ll just,” he motioned to the door.

“Yeah, sure, right, uh I’ll see you--”

“Downstairs, for--”

“Breakfast. Right.”

Some awkward shuffling of feet, the blanket, and a few half-waves goodbye later, and Aziraphale once again stood in the hall in front of the offering’s door.

“What a strange mortal.”

* 

Aziraphale settled into his seat at the table. He’d decided to go with the small one technically in his study but the mortal wouldn’t be able to see those parts of it yet. To him it would look like a round, stone table with two chairs and a small assortment of food and drink in the middle of a large, empty...well, cave. But that was alright. Didn’t want to overwhelm him.

Brimming with nervous energy, Aziraphale kept slightly adjusting the plates, careful not to touch the food on it. There was some hot soup and bread and cheese. The cheeses were some of his favorites; they all smelled so _different_ . The smell of the soup made the back of his tongue tickle. Beelzebub told him once that meant it was spicy and he didn’t have the heart to tell them he didn’t know what _that_ meant. There were some things taken from the altar, pies and tarts. He learned a long time ago that some pies had meat in them and some had fruit. He could never figure out why they didn’t come up with a different name for the meat ones, they were so misleading. He would never forget the first time he saw Beelzebub bite into one and instead of the fruit filling and that light smell that came with it, there were vegetables and meat and a heavier, thicker smell. Neither were bad, it just wasn’t what he had been expecting. Oh he couldn’t wait until it was time for all the berries. Blueberries were his favorite, blackberries and strawberries tied for second, so it helped that they sort of bracketed his blueberry time. There were other berries of course, and they all smelled different and had interesting looking textures and colors. He knew the villagers did all sorts of things with them, they made drinks, and pies and tarts, and they fermented them, and oh, so many options.

He was still thinking about berries when Beelzebub came in, the offering following behind.

Aziraphale pushed to his feet, “Hello, do have a seat.”

The offering slowly shuffled over while Beelzebub stood by the entrance, arms crossed, scowling as usual.

He sat in his chair, back ramrod straight, hands in his lap. He certainly looked more awake. And uncomfortable. And terrified. Which was to be expected. He had at least, Aziraphale noticed, picked something out of the wardrobe to wear. One of the heavier gowns, and a short cloak over it. His hair was tamed now, pulled back and Aziraphale wished he’d worn it out.

“Please,” Aziraphale said as he took his seat, “try to relax.”

“Little hard.”

“I understand. You have nothing to fear.”

“Hmm,” he grunted out, running his hands up and down his arms under the cloak. “Is it always this cold down here?”

“Ah, perhaps? To be honest, I’ve never noticed. I’d offer to build a fire but it’s...not wise. Not the kind that has heat anyway.”

The offering gave him a funny look.

Aziraphale shifted his hands into his lap and quietly snapped his fingers beneath the table, adding several more cloaks and heavier gowns to the wardrobe in the offering’s room. A few pairs of pants, just in case he felt like mixing it up. Woolen socks. Some boots. And another blanket. After a thought he snapped again, adding a plush rug that took up most of the cold, stone bedroom floor.

“So. Introductions. I am, of course, the God Below. My name is Aziraphale. He...generally. You’ve met Beelz. Ah,” he glanced around, “the twins are off somewhere, you’ll meet them before long. No doubt busy targeting unsuspecting ankles.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. How shall I address you?”

“Uh well. Been going by Crowley for the past few months. Uh, he, as well. The villagers called me Crawly but...I don't really like that and so I went with Crowley. But I'm not really, I don't know. I don't know if that’s ... _it_.”

“If Crowley is the name you want?”

“Yeah. I mean I like it, but I don’t know if I like it cause it's close enough to Crawly to be familiar while not being Crawly or--y’know what, sorry. Rambling. Doesn’t matter.”

“Well. Crowley it is and if you change your mind, just let me know.”

“And...then what?”

“And then I will address you by your new chosen name?”

“That simple?”

“It is to me.”

“Oh…” His hands stilled their frantic movement and he seemed to relax, just a little.

“Please,” Aziraphale gestured to the food, “eat.”

“It’s safe to eat? Not...I don’t know...poisoned?”

Beelzebub let out a scoff.

“Of course not,” said Aziraphale. “In fact, you’ll notice much of it is from the altar.”

“Oh. Huh.” He started to reach for a nearby pastry but noticed the soup and quickly went for it, dragging the plate the bowl sat on closer to him.

“We have a garden topside. That's where we get the fruit and such as the seasons allow.”

“Right,” he said through a mouthful of bread. Aziraphale noticed he’d dipped it in the soup. He wondered why. Surely it would just make it...soggy? “I suppose nothing grows down here.”

“I didn't say that. I just don't think it would be to your liking. Mostly various types of fungi and moss and the like. Not terribly flavorful I would imagine.”

“Fungi?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, “Yes. Do you...like them?”

“I just. Y'know,” he shrugged, “fancied myself a bit of an herbalist. I like to...try different things. Eat ‘em, note the effects, what they do when you mix 'em with other things.”

“Oh that's fascinating! Is that necessarily safe, though?”

“Eh, haven't died yet. Well, till now.”

“Again, you aren't going to die here.”

He sat back with a sigh, “You say that, except every year we sacrifice someone. To _you_. And...they don't exactly come back. So one is left to assume--”

“There's a saying about that. Making assumptions.”

“Then why don't you explain to me how this works? I'm a sacrifice that doesn't die?”

“To be frank, I've asked Beelzebub to pass along that I really don't like the term 'sacrifice'.” He glanced at the immortal who just shrugged. “It has negative connotations.”

Crowley muttered something under his breath but Aziraphale didn’t push the matter. He lifted his glass of wine and gave it a sniff. He loved the way the red ones smelled.

“You are here,” he started, “to ensure that your world above has a spring and a summer and flowers and good weather and your crops succeed and your livestock are...whatever it is you do with them.”

“Right.”

“In order to do that, there needs to be an exchange of life force. Of energy, of will, of...soul? Whichever word suits you best. There needs to be an exchange, you can’t have something for nothing.”

“And...this is where the _not_ dying comes in?”

“Indeed. You only have to give up a small amount to benefit everything else. I take that essence from you and transfer it to the world above.”

“How? How do you...take it from me?”

“I touch you.”

“I--you--sorry, you what?”

“It’s really very simple. I merely need to hold your hand for, say, an hour each day and that’s that. Although I did have one offering that preferred to get it over with in one go. So we sat together for the majority of a day and then didn’t see each other again the rest of the week. They stayed in their rooms and read. You know I think they learned a new language, actually.”

“Uh huh.”

“I personally don’t prefer that as it’s...well it’s a little bit sad, I think. And lonely. But! I’m nothing if not accommodating and we will do whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

Crowley blinked. Aziraphale took that as a sign to keep going.

“We do this every day or every other day from roughly now-ish, we don't have to start right away of course, and for the next six months. Then...you leave.”

“And...go where?”

“Wherever you like, really. Everyone seems to prefer to start over somewhere new. I provide them with a bit of money and clothes and the like to help them get by wherever it is they choose to go. Most times Beelzebub is kind enough to help get them there, and that’s that.”

“But...I could go home?”

“Yes. Although…”

“Although what? What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t one, technically. It’s just...your village has taken to their own interpretation of this entire situation. I understand many, many generations ago things were a bit more, well, gruesome. And the gods then really did kill the offerings, sent awful signs and the like. But it hasn’t been that way for some time. And, well, truth be told the last time someone returned after being offered was oh...hmm. The years sort of blend together.” He looked to Beelzebub, “I want to say perhaps, fifteen or so years ago?”

Beelzebub shrugged, “Sounds about right.”

Crowley sat back with a heavy sigh. “Shadwell’s ghost…”

“Yes. Except he wasn’t a ghost. He was very real and alive. And I don’t think your neighbors were very willing to accept that fact?”

“No. I mean, well, it didn’t help that it was bloody _Shadwell_. The man was--”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, trying to not to think too much about it.

“And so when he... _reappeared,_ yelling about mystical lakes and shadow monsters…” He shifted in his seat. “What, uh, whatever happened to him? I know the council members came up with a means of banishing the ghost but, if he wasn’t actually a spirit…”

“Beelzebub found him wandering the woods nearby. And so, like the many, many before him we sent him on his way and helped him get settled elsewhere.”

“Huh.”

Crowley stared down into his soup, mixing it lazily with the spoon. Surely he must have questions, they always had questions. Aziraphale waited, smelled his wine some more.

“So...I can go back?” Crowley finally asked. “Any time? I don’t have to stay, I could just, hold your hand a bit and then go home? Sleep in my own bed?”

“Not quite.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, tossing the spoon into the bowl with a clatter.

“It takes a great deal of concentration and energy for me to open the gates to the Below and allow a living thing in here. More-so to keep…” he hesitated and stole a glance at Beelzebub, “ah, everything...where it should be.”

“What’s that mean?”

“As I said, the longer you’re here the more of the Below will make sense. Now, I won’t be strong enough to reopen the gates above for another few months.”

“Let me guess,” he said with a scoff, “around six?”

“Closer to five, actually, you snarky thing.” Crowley had the decency to look at least a little chastised. “Once I’ve regained some of my strength I'll be able to open the gates and yes, you can go back home. I would appreciate it, as I’m sure would your village, if you returned every now and then for the last month to finish out the season but that’s your choice. Provided your people don’t try to banish you as they did Shadwell.”

“Heh, yeah.”

They lapsed into silence once more while Crowley seemed to turn this information over. Aziraphale wondered if he knew he chewed his lips when he was thinking. Not a little nibble, a demure pinch of the corner, no he aggressively gnawed on his bottom lip.

“So...no one has to die.”

“No, you most certainly don’t.”

“No, no I mean, _no one_ , I mean…” he looked up, glanced at Beelzebub and settled his gaze back on the table. “Nevermind.”

“In the interest of full disclosure and honesty, I will tell you that you _can_ force your way out.”

“Aziraphale!”

Ignoring Beelzebub, he continued, “There are very few places you absolutely shouldn’t step foot in down here. The rest is free reign. As such, eventually, I imagine you will discover one of the gates and to sate your impending curiosity I will tell you now that yes, you can just...walk through. It will be unpleasant for me, and will leave me quite weak.” Beelzebub groaned aloud, throwing their head back. “And for reasons I’m not prepared to explain yet, it is not in your best interest, nor that of your village’s, to have a weakened God Below.”

“O-Oh?”

“Mhm. I do more than just manage the seasons, my good man. But we can talk about that another time. I’m afraid I’ve unloaded quite a bit of information on you just now.”

“...yeah.”

“As I said, we don’t have to start right away. Give it a few days. I’ll give you a bit of a tour and--”

“If...if someone were to do that, to-to push their way through, could they come back? Like,” he shifted, “if they just left for the night?”

“You mean would the door still be open?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. You see…” Aziraphale sighed, Beelzebub was going to give him an earful for this, he could feel it in his bones. “You, as a living being in the Below, you...well you wield an immense amount of power over this domain.”

“Ohmygod,” Beelzebub muttered as they left.

Crowley watched with a raised brow before looking back to Aziraphale.

“Don’t mind them. You are also at a disadvantage in many ways as well. So yes, you can push your way through almost any gate down here. Which would effectively leave it off its hinges and you could waltz back in whenever you like.”

“Oh.”

“It also means that anything _else_ can waltz right out as well.”

He blinked, “Anything...else?”

“Mhm.”

The fear and nervousness he had when he first came in returned in full force. Poor dear. “Has that happened before?”

“The ‘anything else’ part? No. Not for some time, I’m quite diligent on that front. Other gods in the past...well. But someone pushing through? Most certainly. I want to say, oh this one was definitely about twenty years ago. After a few weeks the offering found a gate and left. Luckily it was a few weeks in so I wasn’t as weak as I would be now, and one of the twins, I promise you’ll get a chance to meet them, saw the gate and we were able to guard it until the offering came back. Once we close it you see, you can’t find it again on your own, not from that side. That’s why Beelzebub leads you down here to begin with. So we left it open. We waited, oh, a fortnight? Before we accepted they weren’t coming back. Do you remember what the weather was like, twenty-so years ago?”

“Yeah,” he said, tone flat. “Was eighteen. I remember we had a couple weeks of spring, pretty standard, nice weather. And then it was like fall was coming and then just a couple weeks after that winter was on us, full force. Mid, what, May? We had a foot of snow. And it kept like that all year. Blizzards and the like. We lost a lot of crops. ...and people. It was bloody awful. Is that why you did that? Cause the offering _ran off_?”

“Why I--? Oh.” He swallowed down a mirthless laugh, it wouldn’t do to upset Crowley further. “My dear, I didn’t do anything.”

“What?”

“If I do nothing, if I don’t exchange life here for life up there, then there is no spring and no summer. Then winter runs unchecked.”

And there it was. Aziraphale watched as everything slowly clicked into place for him, his expression shifting from his latent anger to confusion to well...a different kind of confusion. One laced with worry, maybe.

“You...you keep it at bay?”

“I do.”

Crowley put his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands, “They’ve got it all wrong,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, the perfect picture of ignorance. He knew how Beelzebub felt but he really didn’t see a killer in this man. And he hoped, no, he believed, that once he had all the facts, he would certainly go against the village’s awful plan.

“I uh...I’ll explain later, I guess. I’m sorry, my head hurts,” he sat back. “I need to...figure this all out.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” Aziraphale pushed to his feet, “I do have some work to tend to. Enjoy your meal. Beelzebub will escort you to your rooms after, you shouldn’t go anywhere these first few weeks unaccompanied, not until the Below adjusts to your presence. In a little bit I’ll come by to give you a proper tour if you like?”

“Right. Sure, yeah that sounds, yeah.”

“Good day.”

Aziraphale was nearly to the door when Crowley called out to him.

“Yes?”

He had scooted to the edge of his seat, clenching the arm rest. His brows knit. He looked so genuinely, painfully concerned. “Why did you tell me all of this? You’re a god. You could’ve just said, this is what it is, this is your lot, adapt. You’ve-you’ve told me all about, well, what makes you weak. Is that, y’know, safe?”

Aziraphale smiled, “I can’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be.”

“And you tell this to every sacri--uh--offering?”

“Generally, yes. Although we’ve been more strict about either guarding the gates to prevent people from just pushing through willy-nilly or closing them immediately after someone has run off. It helps, in recent years, that many of the offerings are old enough to remember how awful that winter year was. Your people are a selfless lot. It’s very impressive. Once they learn of the fate they’d be dooming their friends and family to if they go they just...stay. Serve out their time. And then go off into the world.”

The poor mortal fairly collapsed into his chair, staring down at his lap. “Yeah,” he said. “Selfless. That’s us.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! So sorry for the delay in updating! I'm going to be having some major surgery in less than a week and so I've been getting ready for that, plus recovery time is like a month and a half. Oof! HOWEVER! We're not going to go on a hiatus, this fic is basically the only thing keeping me sane lol. I'd just say expect updates to be a little slower coming is all as I recover. Also chapter illustrations may be more sporadic. Lots of love! I hope you enjoy these two goofs doing what they do best, _being idiots_.
> 
> xoxo  
> (Oh I keep forgetting to mention, you can find me on twitter at @tfw_thevoid if ever you want to gently scream at me about fic stuff and gomens and whatnot!)

rowley lost his appetite almost immediately. He sat at the table a little while longer, unsure of what to do and too afraid to get up and leave. Aziraphale had said he had power in the Below. But he also said there were...other things that could leave. Crowley glanced around at the stone surrounding him. Were they here now? Ghosts or something worse? What other responsibilities did the god have? Who were the twins?

Eventually Beelzebub came back but they didn't seem to be any less upset than when they had stormed off. If Crowley had to guess, he didn't think Beelzebub wanted Aziraphale sharing all that he had. He wondered if they knew. If they knew what Gabriel and the other council members had tasked him with.

"Whenever you're ready," Beelzebub said.

He grabbed a few more pieces of bread and some cheese before getting up to follow Beelzebub back to his rooms. He wished he remembered the route they had taken to get to the small area where they had breakfast but it all looked the same. Just dark grey stone on more stone. Stalactites hung down threateningly in some spots. There didn't seem to be any twists or turns or other doors besides the direct route they took to his room. But...there had to be, hadn't there? There was surely more to the Below than his door, the hall outside it, and a small room with a small table. Where had Aziraphale gone off to?

Crowley stopped walking.

Where _had_ he gone off to? He didn't watch him leave. He must have gone through the same door Beelzebub stormed off through. The same door he and Beelzebub had just walked through. The same door that led to this hall that led to his rooms but...that didn't make sense.

He glanced around him. The walls seemed closer, taller. But also further away, the ceiling lower, pressing in. It felt like the shadows were watching him but that wasn't right because there weren't any shadows.

Why weren't there shadows? There was no light. No torches. How was he able to see anything at all in the darkn--

As if in response to his wandering mind, sconces appeared down the length of the hall, lit with flickering blue flames. He blinked and it was as if they had always been there. Tentatively, Crowley went up to one, touching the iron of the sconce, holding his fingers near the fire. It felt...cool. "The kind without heat," he said quietly, remembering Aziraphale's cryptic words earlier.

"You can see them now?"

He jumped; he'd nearly forgotten Beelzebub was there in the hall. How did someone so menacing blend so seamlessly into the background? "Uh...yeah, yeah I guess so."

"Hmm."

"Is that bad?"

"No. Usually takes longer for mortals to adjust."

"So it's good?"

"Didn't say that either." They jerked their head towards his door, "In you go. He'll be around later, I’m sure he promised a grand tour."

The first thing Crowley noticed when he stepped into his rooms was the new rug on the floor. It looked plush and soft and the room felt a little more cozy with it. Beelzebub closed the door behind him and after a moment's hesitation Crowley locked it. He knew it didn't really make a difference but Aziraphale had been right, he _did_ feel safer with the option. He shivered and went to the closet to grab a heavier cloak and noticed there were even more clothes inside. Ones that looked heavier, warmer. He spied a pair of gloves and some thick socks. He wanted to change right away but the thought of being cold in the time it would take him to remove his current clothes and put on different ones did not appeal. So instead he grabbed another cloak and threw it on over the current one he wore then shuffled over to the bed.

At some point Aziraphale put more clothes in his wardrobe. He added the rug, no doubt to cover the ice cold stone of the floor. He had provided warm food, good food. He told Crowley all sorts of things that Beelzebub clearly hadn't agreed with him needing to know. He was...kind. Crowley had no intention of trying to kill him, he hadn't entertained the thought even for a moment. But now that he met the god? Now that he knew in six months he would be able to leave and there would be a new sacrifice, someone that may not have qualms with trying to kill him? There had to be another way. If he could get back to the village, and prove that he wasn't a ghost, if he could prove that no one had to die, that the god was _helping_ them...

He flopped sideways onto the bed. How? How would he do all of that? He couldn't safely leave and return for another five months, by then they would have assumed him to be dead. Especially so far into summer. They would be getting ready for Drawing Day. Maybe the council members would come up with a plan instead of leaving it to the offering. A plan that involved killing a god, already just a terrible idea, and dooming their village to eternal winter. Maybe more than their village. Maybe everywhere.

Crowley rolled onto his back. Well. Fuck.

Anathema would know what to do. She would have ideas and clever plans and at the very least a hint at the future that he would be quick to deny. He stared up at the ceiling, the stalactites looming over him with menace. He wondered if he could get the god to put a canopy on his bed. So at least he wouldn't see his impending doom. Or, well, he was a _god_ , maybe he could just remove the pillars altogether. Just smooth stone ceiling. And a fancy blue fire chandelier. And some tapestries on the wall, just to make it a little warm.

"You could do that, couldn't you?" Crowley said, more to fill the bubble of silence than anything else. "You could just," he lifted his hand in front of him, letting his focus on it blur as he stared at the stalactites, and snapped, "poof, smooth ceiling?" He let his head flop to one side, staring at the walls. He snapped again, "Poof, tapestries. Not ugly ones though. Ones with...flowers. And vines." He rolled onto his side, his knee bumping something. Crowley looked down to see the crown the Them had gifted him. He pulled it close to his chest, holding it tight.

"Poof," he said quietly, "everyone's happy."

*

Crowley woke some time later to a knock on his door. He curled in, folding his arms against his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. "Hrrmm."

Another knock.

Why was Anathema knocking on his waaaaaall? "Ugh, just get in the bed 'nathema, 'mnot getting up."

There was no response and no shift of weight on the bed. There was however, after a moment, another knock. Slightly louder this time.

Crowley flopped over dramatically, flinging the cloak off of him. He stared up at a smooth stone ceiling that was definitely not his own.

"Oh...right." Was he ever going to get used to waking up in the Below?

He sat up, "Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Aziraphale called from the other side.

Crowley rubbed at his eyes, "Yeah, sure."

As the door swung open it occurred to him a little belatedly that it had been locked.

"Did you have a good nap?"

"Forgot I was down here."

"That would explain...the invitation."

Realization at what he'd mumbled slowly crept in, along with a fierce heat to his cheeks. "Uh, I-my friend-Anathema-uh--"

Aziraphale put up a hand, "You have no need to explain your personal life to me. I'm done with my rounds for the day and I came to see if you would like a tour?"

“Uh…” He pulled the cloak closer around him and glanced around the room. He noticed the far wall was lined with tapestries. Deep red ones edged in gold with vibrant green vines sprawling across in intricate curls and patterns. Small white flowers dotted the vines. He looked up at the ceiling, realizing that it was, in fact, smooth now. No stalactites to be seen in the entire room.

How did he even know?

He was a god. He was everywhere. He controlled everything in the Below. He had no reason to lie to Crowley or trick him. He also had no reason to be so kind. The clothes, the food, explaining everything, the rug, and now this? And yet here was Crowley, meant to assassinate him. He thought a nap might help get things to settle but his thoughts were no less jumbled. No one had to die, not him, not Aziraphale, not any future sacrifices. He needed some time to think, to figure things out.

"Crowley?"

"Um. I'm still actually kind of tired. I think I'll...stay here? If that's alright?"

Aziraphale smiled a small little smile, "Of course. I'll have some food brought up later."

"Thanks."

The door shut quietly behind the god.

*

Crowley stayed hidden away in his room for three days. Not out of fear of Aziraphale or the Below, but because he simply didn’t know what to _do._ There wasn’t just the matter of killing the god, that was all but settled, there was the fact that everyone in the village had it all wrong. He had to figure out a way to get them to understand without trying to banish him for being a ghost. He considered telling Aziraphale the truth of it all, but he didn’t know how he would react. He _seemed_ like a benevolent god but being told all of his subjects were planning to murder him might change that. Crowley was sure Beelzebub wouldn’t take too kindly to it.

By the evening of the third day he had a rough plan.

Step One, he had to try and get to know the god a little better. Get a better understanding of how he worked, then perhaps he could anticipate how he would react to the truth. This step would be easy, any moment the god was going to knock on his door to offer dinner and Crowley decided he would ask for that tour.

He began pacing the room again, “Okay, while that’s happening, I’ll…hnn.” He gritted his teeth. Crowley was a pacer and a talker. That was how he worked out his problems, his plans, it drove Anathema up the wall but it was just how he worked. Unfortunately, he was fairly convinced the god was able to hear everything in the Below, how else would he have known about the tapestries or the ceiling? Although there was nothing nefarious about his plans, the exact opposite, he wanted to be in control of when the god found out the truth and how. He kept pacing, going over the plan in his head.

Step Two was to actively befriend the god. Let _him_ get to know _Crowley_. So that when it came for step three, he’d believe him.

Step Three was, of course, to tell the god the truth of the situation, what the plan originally was, that Crowley had never intended to follow through with it, and perhaps together they could find a way to change how things were done in a way that benefited everyone.

Four was probably the most difficult. Convince the villagers they were wrong.

He looked over at his crown. He knew Anathema would believe him, the Them, there was Tracy, she loved him (and the salve he made for her hands). But convincing Gabriel? Sandalphon and Hastur? He loved Agnes and Frances but even they were a bit set in the idea of ‘this is just how it’s been’. It wasn’t going to be easy.

A knock on the door made him jump.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “step one.”

“Good evening, dear,” Aziraphale said from the other side of the door, “I’ve set your--”

Crowley opened the door, “Hello, Aziraphale.”

It’d been a few days since he last saw the god, how had he forgotten how bright his eyes were?

Aziraphale nodded at the small table in the hall just beside his door, and the plate of food on top, “Your dinner. Although...did you want...to come out?”

“I thought maybe you could give me that tour? If you’re not busy?”

The god’s face positively lit up, “Oh! Oh, yes I’d love to!”

Crowley didn’t bother trying to fight his own smile.

“We’ll just put this aside for later,” Aziraphale said and snapped, sending Crowley’s food off to who-knew-where. “So.”

“So?”

They stared at one another.

“Do you...want to pick a direction?” Crowley prompted.

"Ah yes! Terribly sorry. You’re right. I wasn’t wholly prepared tonight is all.”

“We can go another--”

“No, no! Perish the thought. You should walk around a bit. Stretch those long legs of yours.” As soon as the words left him, Aziraphale made a sort of ‘ngk’ sound, his cheeks flushing. Without the anxiety of Sacrifice Day fresh on his heels or the fear of what his death would entail, and with a couple decent night’s sleep in him, Crowley realized something in that moment.

The god was _cute_.

“So,” Aziraphale said, “if you leave your room and go right, as we have been doing, and follow this hall, you'll find my study and personal rooms, a library," he squinted as he thought, "I think there's a drawing room down there somewhere, one of the last offerings was fond of it."

"You think?"

"The Below...shifts."

"So I'm going to get lost down here?"

"Oh most certainly," he said, eyes a bit wide. "At least in the beginning. That’s one of the reasons we don’t want you wandering around without someone with you. As you get used to the Below and the Below gets used to you, you'll find that say...if you _were_ looking for the drawing room, as time goes by it'll likely be the first turn you take off this hall. Right now...golly, I really don't know where it is."

Golly?

"Now, if you leave your rooms and turn left..."

"There's a wall there," Crowley said as he turned, only to see there was, in fact, not a wall. "Right. 'Course."

"That will take you to the garden, there's a lovely dining table and sitting area for once we get the weather really nice. Hmm. I'm sure I'm forgetting something."

"Where's Beelzebub stay?"

"Oh right, how could I forget Beelz? They're off to the right somewhere."

"Somewhere? Do you know...where anything is down here?"

"Of course! I know _exactly_ where the Lake is and where--"

"There's a lake?"

Aziraphale's eyes widened and his mouth drew into a thin line. "...No?"

"Aziraphale?"

He winced, "...yes? But you can't go there, not yet."

"Wha--"

"Trust me, please. It's for your own safety."

He sighed, "Alright so besides the lake that I can't go to, this isn't much of a tour if you don't know where anything is."

"That's part of the fun!" When Crowley didn't look particularly impressed he added on, "Oh, alright. There is a trick. Going to the right will always take you further down while going to the left will take you up."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"How so?"

"Well...provided there’s no stairs or anything, three lefts make a right."

"And two Wrights make a plane but that doesn't really matter down here, does it?"

"What?"

"Never you mind. My point is, the Below does not follow any rules but its own."

"Not even yours?"

"Oh fates, no," he said with a laugh. "I'm just the god Below. More of a gardner really. Just keep things tended and where they ought to be and alive and weed...what isn't."

What...isn't? Crowley fought a shudder.

"Are you cold, my dear?"

“Nah, it's alright uh. So...let's go exploring?”

“Of course! Ah,” Aziraphale glanced in the direction that would take them above. “Which,” he hesitated, “way would you like to go?”

Left. He wanted to go left. He wanted to take as many lefts that were needed to get up on grass again and able to see the sun and take a deep breath of fresh air.

Aziraphale was doing an excellent job of pointedly not looking at him while he made his decision. But Crowley could see it on his face. He was waiting for it, waiting for Crowley to say left and to just go sprinting. How many times must he have done this with an offering and how many times must they have taken the first opportunity to get as far away from him as possible? Even when he'd been nothing but kind and courteous thus far?

"Let's go right," Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked up from his cuffs, his eyes positively alight. "Really?"

He looked _so_ happy. So relieved and genuinely happy, Crowley couldn't help but smile, “Yeah. let's do it.”

“Oh wonderful!”

“So,” he said as he followed behind the god, “what's the room where we have breakfast?”

“Oh that's my study. It's where I go when I have a moment to myself, do some reading.”

A doorway appeared ahead of them, “And if we go through there...that's where we'll be?”

“Mhm.”

“And if we go,” Crowley turned right, and the hall kept going, “this way?”

Azirpahale looked from down the hall to him and shrugged. “Truly, I have no idea. Why don't you lead the way and we'll see what happens?”

“Wha? We'll get lost!”

“Then we'll go left until we aren't anymore.”

“You really dont think there's maybe a better way to go about this? A map perhaps? Little markers? Something so that we don't wind up all turned around and starve to death down here?”

“Oh, I don't eat.”

“S’not really the point.”

Aziraphale tilted his head as he regarded Crowley, brow pinched. “You and Beelz are so dramatic.”

“I'm not dramatic!” he wailed and Azirpahale's brows shot up. “Forget it. Fine.” Crowley turned and marched down the hall. 

They did not get lost. They did not find the drawing room either. They did, however, find a what seemed to be

"...a closet?"

The two of them stood in the doorway and peered into the small, empty space. 

"Is it a closet if it doesn't have a door?" asked Crowley. "Isn’t that just an alcove?"

Aziraphale shrugged at him with wide eyes. Crowley actively tried to fight his smile that time. Wouldn’t do to go grinning like an idiot every time the god, well, _breathed._

“Ok, better question,” he said, “why do you have an empty closet-cove in the middle of the hall?”

“Well, it's empty because I can't imagine what I'd put in it. Also I didn't know it existed.”

“Didn't know? But...it's your Below?”

“Oh it's most certainly not _mine_ . It just _is_.”

“You live here though. You didn't know this was here?”

“I expect it's only here because _you_ expected it to be.”

Crowley frowned.

The god blinked. “It's your tour, my dear.”

There was an implication there, teasing at the edge of Crowley's mind. “Right,” he said. “Let's just keep going.”

“Lead the way.”

He didn't make it very far before Aziraphale called out, “Wait!'' Crowley looked back to see Aziraphale peering around the corner they’d just turned. “Asteria! Come meet Crowley!”

“Asteria?”

“One of the twins!”

“Oh…” Crowley smoothed at his clothes. One of the twins. Ok. This was. Ok. Another person. Were they going to be like Beelzebub, suspicious of everything Crowley said and did and equally unimpressed? Or like Aziraphale? Crowley glanced at the god. So easily entertained and quick to smile.

“Are you really going to walk the whole way down-- oh, fine!” He looked over to Crowley. “Sorry. Just a moment. She's being...persnickety.”

“Uh.” Crowley moved to join Aziraphale and as he reached him, Asteria turned the corner.

Crowley looked down at the crow.

She looked up at him.

“Huh.”

“Asteria, this is Crowley. Crowley, Asteria.”

The crow tilted her head at him. She had two scars that went across her throat and striking blue eyes.

“Hi. Wait, twins?”

“Mhm. I think Astraeus is doing rounds with Beelzebub right now. I'm sure you'll meet him before long.”

He scoffed, “Oh I'm sure.”

Asteria ruffled her feathers, clearly deciding introductions were over and took two steps toward Aziraphale, who immediately yanked his foot back. “Don’t you dare!”

She let out several caws that could only be described as mocking laughter and turned back the way she'd come.

He huffed, fiddling with his cuffs.

“So...what is it the twins do?” Crowley thought back to their first breakfast, “When they’re not jabbing ankles, apparently?”

“They assist me.”

“With what?”

“My duties.”

Crowley's mouth pressed into a thin line.

Aziraphale stared back, ridiculous eyes bright.

“Right.”

He turned down the hall. Of course the god wasn't going to tell him about his duties. Or why the Below worked the way it did, if he even knew. Or about the lake. Or what doing his 'rounds' even meant. That was alright. They were still getting to know one another. Crowley had to show he was trustworthy. It was going to take time to unravel all the secrets of the Below.

They weren't walking for long before there was a turn to the left. Crowley followed and found himself standing in a wide space. The temperature had changed drastically, it was warm and humid. The stone looked wet all around. There were all sorts of mushrooms and fungi and moss growing along the walls, kinds he'd never seen before. In the center was a small pond, some kind of glowing algae floating at the edges. He went to take a step in and stopped, “Is-is this the lake?”

Aziraphale was looking around the room, brows pinched. "....no.”

“So I can explore it then?”

“Mhm…” he said, although it was hard to miss the hesitance in his voice.

“What is it?”

“I've never seen this place before.”

‘Well that's hardly surprising, there's closets you've never--”

“No, what I mean to say is this place did not exist before you stepped into it. It's new.”

Crowley blinked. He looked around the room, “What's it for?”

“I'm sure you'll find out.”

They spent some time wandering about the space. Crowley fought the urge to pick at the various fungi, he hadn't brought any gloves and didn't know what he was looking at. He'd grab gloves, and a basket, and some paper next time.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said quietly and when Crowley looked over at him he had his head tilted as though he were listening to something. After a moment he blinked and looked at Crowley with a smile, “Shall we head back?”

He didn't really think it was a question so he took one last glance at the little pond and stood up, “Yeah sure.”

The walk back was silent, and it didn't take long for the cold of the below to settle into him once more. They turned a corner and he recognized the hall, his room was just a ways down. It was clear Aziraphale wanted him back to his room but overall the excursion felt like a success.

“I do have some work I need to tend to, but would you be interested in joining me for dinner?”

Definitely a success.

“Sure,” he said, although he was a bit hungry _now_. “Also, before you go, how soon do we have to start this exchanging...touchy...thing?”

“The sooner the better, really. Nothing will thaw until we start. Winter will simply keep going.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. He was down there for a reason, he couldn’t avoid it forever. “So...t-tomorrow then?”

“If you like. We can start small. A few minutes. That'll be enough to at least get them above freezing up there.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Makes sense. I'll...see you later then.”

Aziraphale did a little wiggle, a _wiggle_. Truly, he was ridiculous. Then he turned down the hall with a little smile. Crowley’s hand was on his door handle when the god suddenly called back.

“Oh, Crowley?”

He stopped short, an unreasonable surge of panic coursing through him. The god was going to say he knew everything. He was going to say that he indulged him for their little excursion but he knew what Crowley was really up to. He was going to say he would never, ever trust him. Or be his friend. Or...

"Y-Yeah?” he managed.

"Can I send some tea? You always look so cold."

Crowley blinked. “Sure. Sounds great.”

“Wonderful,” he said.

He listened to the god’s footsteps retreat and pressed his forehead to the door.

How could anyone want to hurt him?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Thank you so much for your patience and well wishes! Surgery went really well and now I'm just in the recovery zone! (It's like the Discovery Zone but with less ball pits. )
> 
> Hope you enjoy this update :D

rowley woke on his stomach, face buried between pillow and arm, a mound of blankets on top of him. He slid his arm under the blankets and snuggled down until they were practically up past his nose. Was it ever going to not be freezing?

Yesterday was a success. Aziraphale came back for him and they ate dinner, well, Crowley ate and Aziraphale sat there and had his wine. Although, Crowley couldn't recall actually seeing him _drink_ it. Still, they sat and they talked about not much at all. The room with the pond that they found, the various twists and turns and rooms the Below had had over the centuries, little things. It was...nice. Comfortable, even.

Crowley wriggled under the blankets, careful not to pull them off, turning onto his back. The smooth ceiling stared back at him.

He didn't quite know how to feel about Aziraphale knowing everything he said while in the Below. No, he knew how he felt about it, he just wasn't sure how to bring it up. Or if he was even right, maybe...it was a coincidence?

"Oi," he said, shuffling the blankets just down to his chin, "I want a big fancy chandelier. With those fancy blue flames." He bit his lip and thought, as quiet as he could, a whisper of a thought really, that he would also like a plant.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

Hmm.

Maybe he had to leave the room first.

With a fortifying deep breath, Crowley tossed the blankets off and shuffled over to the wardrobe, grabbing a few things. He then went to the washroom where the tub was already filled with steaming water.

"Oohh yesyesyes." 

The bath was always ready when he woke, always steaming, fresh linens and soaps and the like set out. He sometimes wondered if Aziraphale did it himself or if he had Beelzebub come in and lay out pretty soaps in a neat little line for him. It was a funny image, he could easily picture Beelzebub's semi-permanent scowl.

Crowley learned on the second day that the water would also _stay_ hot for as long as he was in the tub. A dangerous thing, that. He'd sit there and just slowly stew himself for hours if he could. Eventually he dragged himself out. Literally, reluctantly pulling himself up and over the edge of the tub to scrabble for some linens before he froze. When he returned to the bedroom, he wasn't that surprised to see a gorgeous chandelier hanging down from the ceiling. Three-tiers deep with what must've been dozens of tiny blue flames and delicately carved vines and leaves that matched his tapestry. A quick glance around the room told him there was no plant though.

So only what he spoke aloud. He turned that information over in his head as he got dressed. He was tying his boots, and had just reached a decision, when there was a knock at his door.

"S'open."

It wasn't open. It was locked, it was always locked, but Aziraphale turned the handle and stepped in just the same. "Good morning, my dear. Are you ready for some breakfast?"

"Yeah," he pushed to his feet. "Look, can I be honest with you?"

"Of course, always."

"I know you said you wouldn't come into my rooms, and you've been great about that, but I don't think it's fair that you can just listen in whenever you want.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I'm sorry? I don’t understand.”

“The tapestry? The rugs, the ceiling, and now the chandelier?”

Slowly, the god seemed to take in the room for the first time. "Hmm. Well I am responsible for the rugs, but nothing else. I noticed how cold you were that first morning.”

“But nothing else? Who else would be? I hardly think Beelzebub cares. I was alone and I said aloud that I'd like to not have giant bloody rocks stabbing down over my face at night and when I woke up they were gone. Just this morning I asked for a chandelier, and I _thought_ about a plant, and poof. Yes chandelier, no plant.”

Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling. “My dear”, he said slowly, “you asked...and the Below provided.”

“What?”

“I told you before. It’s not just a matter of you getting used to the Below but the Below adjusts to you as well. Although i'll be honest I've never seen it take to an offering as quickly as you but...it certainly seems to.”

“So...you...can't hear everything I say?” he asked, feeling a bit stupid. But how was he to know the Below itself was the one listening?

“No. That would be quite invasive of me I would think. This room is your space to do with as you please. Somewhere you can hopefully feel at home during your time here.”

“Oh…”

“Although please don't ask for plants, at least none from above. We can't have any other living thing down here besides you.”

“Why?”

“It attracts unwanted company.”

“Are you ever going to answer a question in a way that's not cryptic, and honestly a little terrifying?”

“Terrifying? Me?” His eyes went wide but there was a happy little quirk to his lips. “Oh I should tell Beelz, they'll never believe me!”

“So no plants, got it.”

“Well none from above. You've got those fascinating little fungi over by that pond. And there are some more…” he waved his hand, “leafy? Things that grow down here.”

“I don't suppose they'd be near the lake I'm not allowed to know exists?”

“Such cheek! Yes, there are some there. But you can find others. Since the Below has taken such a liking to you I suppose you could just...express your interest and it'll reveal a path to you.”

Crowley considered that.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, right.” He followed behind Aziraphale. As they entered the small room he said, “I’m sorry. I i didn’t mean to accuse you of being...you’ve been very kind to me.”

“Apology accepted,” Aziraphale said with a smile, holding Crowley's chair out.

They sat in a comfortable silence while Crowley ate. Beelzebub came in at some point to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. The god looked concerned and started to get up but Beelzebub shook their head, saying they and Asteria had it taken care of.

What was _it_? What went on in the depths of the Below? They didn't want Crowley traveling alone. They didn't want him going near the Lake. What else was lurking in the Below? Aziraphale’s comment on no living things, on attracting unwanted company, rang in Crowley’s mind. He’d said something else before too, about tending to what was alive and weeding what wasn’t… 

While Crowley contemplated the apparent monster lurking in the depths of the Below, Aziraphale had apparently been speaking to him.

He blinked, “Sorry what?”

"I said that I was thinking we should give this a go after breakfast. Whenever you're ready.”

“Oh. Right, right off?”

“Mhm. It's probably best to get it out of the way, I've found offerings tend to really build up the whole thing in their heads and the longer we wait the harder it is to even get going. I promise it's _really_ nothing to be concerned with. It's also better to do it after eating, I think. As it can be a bit draining.”

“Right. Nothing to be concerned with, just a bit draining.”

“Exactly!”

He looked down at his half eaten breakfast, suddenly too nervous to finish it. "Okay. How do we do this?"

Aziraphale stood and moved to one of two oversized chairs off to the side. Chairs there weren't there before. In fact that whole side of the room had certainly been a wall and now there were the two chairs and a small table between them. The god sat, a book in his hands, and gestured for Crowley to take the other seat.

Crowley thought it rather impressive he managed to stand without his knees immediately buckling. He made his way over to the chair and sat on its edge. He shifted a bit. Trying to get settled, to get comfortable. Which was ridiculous; it was probably the most comfortable chair he'd ever sat on in his life.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything as Crowley fumbled about, only politely watched and waited.

Finally, Crowley folded his legs up in the seat and shoved his hands down between them, trying very hard to sit still and not think too much. It was fine. Aziraphale said it didn't hurt and he believed him.

Once he was apparently content that Crowley seemed settled, Aziraphale slowly removed one of his gloves. His hands were pale, like the rest of him, nails perfectly shaped and clean. Crowley noticed a gold ring on his pinky finger.

Aziraphale held his hand out over the small table. Crowley had half expected some kind of...incantation or glowing marks or something.

“You just, hold my hand?” he asked.

“That’s right. You see,” he hesitated, flexing his fingers. “My touch automatically drains the life from things. It’s a passive effect, I have no control over it. It’s the using of the life energy to restore life, your spring and summer, to the above that I control.”

“That’s why the gloves,” Crowley said.

“Mhm.” Aziraphale looked up from his hand, a small smile on his face, “I promise, Crowley, I won't hurt you.”

Crowley swallowed, inhaled deeply, and reached out. To his disappointment he winced as Aziraphale's hand came closer. He hadn’t meant to, it was more out of anticipation than anything else. But he didn’t miss the way Aziraphale's smile fell.

“Oh my word!” Aziraphale said as he took his hand.

“What? What did I do?”

“Nothing, my dear, it's just, well you're _freezing.”_

“Oh. yeah…” His shoulders relaxed a little. Aziraphale's hand was so warm.

And soft.

And strong.

The god opened the book in his lap and started reading.

Crowley thought he could feel a slight tingle in his fingertips, but he honestly couldn't tell if it was real, if it was the exchange at work, or if it was just the slight giddiness of holding someone's hand that wasn't Anathema.

They hadn't folded their fingers together although he was surprisingly tempted to.

He looked away from their hands. Over at the table, which was now clear of their meal save for a pitcher and a glass. He sighed. Drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. A quick glance at Aziraphale told him the god was still happily reading away.

"S'pose I should've brought a book for myself.”

He looked up, “Would you like to borrow one?”

“You've more?”

Aziraphale turned and nodded behind them. Crowley leaned over to peer between their seats and what was once a wall was now a hall lined and lined with bookcases. It went on so far it disappeared into darkness.

"I really wish this place would stop doing that," Crowley muttered.

“You can go and get one if you like.”

“Uh. Well.” He looked down at their joined hands. A little reluctant to give up the warmth. To let go of the feeling of another person. Because that was what he felt like. He didn't feel like a god, his touch wasn’t ice cold, it didn't burn, it didn't send shocks through his body. At least, not in a way Crowley thought might happen. It was subtle. It was little tingles that started in his fingertips and with a blink had found their way to his chest. It was pursed lips and the concentrated effort of trying to look anywhere, literally anywhere else. It was thinking too hard on whether or not his grip was too tight or too loose. If he moved his thumb would it translate as a caress or just a twitch of the muscle? Could Aziraphale tell Crowley’s hand was shaking?

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt any of those things. It was silly wasn't it? It was so, so silly and he hadn't realized how much he had missed it.

“Crowley?"

“Sorry. Uh well, we're only going for a few mins today, right?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Guess I can wait then.”

“Very well.”

The god returned to his book.

Crowley returned to staring out at nothing in particular. He let out a heavy sigh. His fingers fiddled with the upholstery on the chair, with the clasp on his cloak. when he started bouncing his knees Aziraphale squeezed his hand.

“You're very distracting, my dear.”

“Sorry. I-sorry I...I won't move.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, “Don't be ridiculous. It's rather endearing.”

“Oh.”

He smiled a small smile that Crowley knew well. He'd offered it himself so many times in the past. The, oh I’ve said too much and you're too polite to tell me so, smile. Before he could think of something reassuring to say that wasn't “I really like how strong and warm your hand is” because honestly what was _that_ , Aziraphale looked down at their joined hands and said, 'Well, I suppose that's enough for the day. That ought to get the snow thawing.”

He was the first to let go and Crowley barely managed to pull his hand in before it just awkwardly thumped onto the table.

“Yeah, alright. So...what now?”

“Whatever you like. I, for one, intend to finish this chapter. As I said you're welcome to borrow any book you like. Or if you've any hobbies, we can get the supplies you need. I think there's some embroidery what-have-you in the drawing room.”

“Ah the mysterious drawing room, if I can find it.”

Aziraphale laughed and Crowley melted a little at how genuine it was. How unguarded.

He closed his book, “If you like I can go with you. I don't have to start my rounds until later.”

“Oh no, I uh,” clenched his hand into a fist, trying to will the warmth of Aziraphale's hand to stay there. “I think I may go back to my room for now. Unless you need to escort me there as well?”

Aziraphale seemed to think on that. He tugged his glove back on, “No I don't think that's necessary. I trust you.”

Crowley was beginning to understand a little how Beelzebub must have felt that first morning because all he wanted to do was grab Aziraphale by the shoulders and shake him. Why, _why_ did he trust him?

Instead he just nodded and pushed to his feet. A surprising wave of lightheadedness hit him and he stumbled sideways. Aziraphale was already there to catch him.

‘There you are. The first time is often a bit rough. Here, have some water,” he snapped his fingers and the glass from the table was in his hand.

Crowley wanted to argue that he was perfectly capable of walking the few feet to the table to get it himself but a part of him, maybe the part that was still tracking how long it took for the warmth of Aziraphale's hand to fade from his own, liked being doted on. Just a bit.

He drank the water, passing the glass back to the god. “Thanks.”

“Are you alright to get back to your rooms, you can sit here a bit.”

He glanced back at the comfortable chair. It was tempting, but he didn’t think he could handle sitting next to Aziraphale while his mind was spinning, bouncing between the reality of their situation and his want to keep holding the god’s hand. “No, I’m good.”

He nodded but didn't press to help him to his room. “Do let me know if you need anything. Or,” he looked down, messing with his cufflinks, “if you’d prefer someone else you can call for one of the twins. The Below will ensure they hear you.”

“Sure,” Crowley said, not ready to admit the room was still just a little wobbly.

He slowly made his way down the hall and back to his room. But by the time he was in front of his door the idea of going back in and laying on his bed and staring at the stone ceiling, did not appeal, no matter how light headed he was. He needed some fresh air.

“Um..." he cleared his throat. "A-Astraeus? I’d like to go for a walk? If you're not busy…”

There was a squawk to his left and Crowley looked down to see the crow looking up at him.

“Hey you. Ready to escort me, the damsel that I am, on a walk?”

The bird let out a squawk that sounded a lot like a bark of laughter and hopped over so that he stood in front of Crowley. He looked one way and then other, and then back up at him, as if to ask 'which way'?

He looked to his right. As curious as he was about what was hidden in the depths of the below...he turned to his left, he really just wanted to see the sky again. Just for a moment.

“Is this way alright?”

Astraeus ruffled his feathers as if to shrug and started walking in that direction.

Crowley followed.

It’s very slow going, walking behind a bird.

“You can uh, I don’t know, sit on my shoulder or something if you want?”

Astraeus stopped and looked at him.

“I mean if you want, I, I don't mean to offend you or--”

The bird flew up and Crowley had to stop himself from flinching. But instead of perching on his shoulder, Astraeus plopped right on his head.

“...really?”

He squawked.

“You and Asteria really are kind of the worst, aren’t you?”

He let out a little, noncommittal, 'mreh'.

Crowley started walking. “Oh speaking of, you might've told me, when we met on Drawing Day, that I was going to get chosen.”

A nervous shuffle of feet on his head.

“Did you not know?”

“Mreh.”

“Oh. Well I guess that's alright then. Did you like that berry I gave you?”

“Mrah!”

“Good. Cause I did use your name for a bit. Still...using it I guess.”

Crowley pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself. He was still feeling a bit light headed. The smart thing to do would probably be go lay in bed. Who knew how this exchanging thing would really affect him? But he didn't want to look at the walls of the Below, he wanted the outside. Just for a bit. 

“Is it much further, you think?” 

“Mreh.”

“Oh good.” 

They walked just a little more and a turn to the right appeared. Crowley took it and found himself facing a set of stone stairs that led up. Sunlight filtered down. It was daylight. He hadn't realized until just then but he'd half been expecting it to be night time. Slowly, he ascended the steps.

He was faced with a clearing, the ground soft and free of rocks and grass and snow, only rich soil. He had the sudden urge to take his shoes off and let his feet sink into the earth. He always felt a little more grounded when he was barefoot but it was so cold in the Below, much too cold for that. There was a stone table in the middle of the clearing, round, with two seats. Crowley looked up and noticed the roof of the cave jutted out just far enough to hang over the seat closest him. He had the distinct feeling that once he stepped out of the shadow of the cave, he would no longer be considered _in_ the Below. 

He lingered in the doorway. 

The other seat was out to the elements, the sky, the sun. There were trees all around, sparse at first then growing numerous and dense the further out. He wondered how far he was, truly, from the village. He could be on the other side of the world for all he knew. 

“Mrah?”

“Yeah, sorry. Was just thinking.” Crowley took a tentative step forward, still keeping to the shadows. He ran his fingers along the back of the chair closest him. Aziraphale had mentioned having meals outside once the weather warmed up. It felt plenty warm already, Crowley thought, in comparison to the freezing Below. 

“He can't leave the Below, can he?” 

“Mrah.” 

“What happens if he tries?” 

With a little push, Astraeus jumped off Crowley's head and landed on the back of the chair, beside his hand. The crow tilted his head at him. 

“Don't know? Or won't tell me?”

He ruffled his feathers. 

“Fine. I'll ask him myself.” Crowley trailed his fingers along the stone of the chair and down to the table as he walked around to the other side. Sure enough, the moment he stepped out of the shadow of the cave mouth, he felt a slight shiver and, well, warmer but only marginally so, it was still winter after all. He hopped up onto the table, sitting so that his back was to the Below and he could look out at the trees, at the crisp blue sky, and soak in as much as he could. Astraeus flew down to the ground and made himself busy poking about in the shrubbery. 

“So you can leave,” said Crowley, “and I'm assuming Asteria. And Beelz. But not Aziraphale.” His shoulders sank. “Is this the most he’s seen of the world?”

The thought weighed heavy on him. As much as it felt good to be outside, he also felt a pang of guilt. It wasn't as though the world, his previous life, was gone to him forever. In a few months he'd be able to go back. So he'd miss a spring and a summer. Weren't his favorite seasons anyway, really. But Aziraphale...he probably couldn’t leave the Below. There he was, ensuring the world above had good weather, beautiful weather, and he only ever got to see a glimpse of it.

Crowley leaned a little to one side, putting a hand on the table to support himself, and not a moment later felt something brush against his fingers. He didn't jump, one gets over their jumpiness crawling around in the woods and the brush and the dirt. He looked over at his hand and saw a snake winding over his fingers.

“Oh hello, Where'd you come from?”

It made its way, up his arm.

“Innit a bit cold out here for you?”

The snake continued on. Up and over. It poked an exploratory head into the neck of Crowley's collar, giving a quick sniff.

“Oi, that tickles. Cold or not, you can't just go delving into my clothes.”

The snake poked its head back out, looking up at him.

“It's rude.”

With a huff, at least, that was what Crowley registered it as, the snake traveled around his shoulders once more, until it got settled.

They sat in silence, Crowley drumming his fingers on the table top, swinging his legs, shifting a bit. Eventually the snake pulled up into his peripheral vision.

Crowley snuck a sideways glance, "What? Nothing.”

The snake shifted.

“What? Ok fine. I'm just. I'm lost, ok? Now that I know I can just pop up my head and smell the air and see the sky, the Below doesn't feel as...suffocating. And the Below seems to _like_ me, whatever that means. But the Below isn't Aziraphale and Aziraphale is the one that I want to…” he glanced at the snake, who, in its own reptilian way, may as well have had a brow raised. “Trust me.” Crowley finished flatly. “I want him to trust me.”

The snake shifted down his arm and once it was down by his wrist Crowley lifted his hand up so they could talk face to face better. The snake's tongue flicked out.

“Yes ok, I know he already trusts me. But I want to feel as though I’ve _earned_ it. I need to know he's going to be safe after my time here. But I don't know how to _do_ that.”

The snake dipped its head a few times.

“Well that's easy for you to say, you don't have a deadline. I can't just, y’know, spend my days going for walks in the Below, I need a _plan_.”

It wriggled.

“You think so? That doesn't seem...I don’t know, feels a bit passive. Just waiting for something to happen.”

“Mrah!” Astraeus piped in from his spot by Crowley's feet.

“Seriously? So your suggestions,” he looked from Astraeus to the snake, “are to take my time and breathe?”

“Mrah.”

“You,” he said to Astraeus, "are immortal. And you…” he looked at the snake, “well I'm just going to assume you are ‘cause it's _really_ too cold for you to be out and about otherwise.” He sighed. “Is that what you do when you get lost? Just...take your time and breathe?”

The snake moved its head in a bit of a circle, looking up before coming back level with Crowley.

“Oh, well excuse me,” Crowley said, “master of direction over here.”

Astraeus let out a series of caws that could only be a laugh and the snake turned to him and hissed in response.

“Do you think...I don't suppose either one of you could...find a friend for me? Deliver a message?”

The snake and Astraeus exchanged glances.

“I just. If I can let Anathema know I'm alive then she can help me. She'll be able to tell me what the village is doing, if they're planning something else, if they're going to prep the next sacrifice with an actual plan. But if I explain to her, to all of them, that we've got it wrong well..maybe we can...make an arrangement.”

The snake wriggled again.

“Yeah I agree. S'worth a shot.”

The three sat in silence for a bit longer before Crowley stretched, “I should get back down there. A cup of tea actually sounds nice right about now.” He looked at the snake, “I’d offer to bring you with but it's colder down there and Aziraphale said nothing alive.'' He paused. “You _are_ alive right?”

The snake hissed. And smirked.

Crowley scoffed, “Immortals. Can't take the lot of you anywhere.”

“That's an interesting skill.”

Crowley turned. Standing in the entryway to the Below was Aziraphale.

“What is?”

“Talking to animals. Not everyone can do that.”

Crowley looked at the snake on his arm and then over at Astraeus. “What? Course they can. Literally everyone can.”

“Ah. I suppose then, the remarkable part is that they talk back?”

“Not really. Animals talk all the time. You'd surprised what you hear if you listen.”

“I see.”

The snake stretched down to pool in Crowley's lap and then winded down his leg, to the floor, and off into the woods.

Crowley hopped down off the table, “You comin?” he said to Astraeus.

The crow flew up and landed, once more, on Crowley's head.

Aziraphale snorted.

“Yeah , I know,” said Crowley. He stopped just past the shadow of the cave, Aziraphale a few feet away. Crowley looked down at the shadow and then up at the god. “You can't leave the Below, can you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because, technically, I'm no longer of this world.”

“What happens if you try?”

‘Balance is shifted and attempts to fix itself.”

Crowley barely swallowed a groan, “What's that _mean?”_

“It means,” said Aziraphale, “that because I am of the Below, when I come above, my presence will suck the life out of anything near me so that I can continue to exist.”

“Oh.”

“I can fight it off, to a degree. Keep to destroying the grass and the flowers, but that means that eventually, if I remain above, I will die.”

Crowley looked down at the shadow once more.

“I heard you mention tea,” Aziraphale asked his voice hopeful.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah.” He stepped into the shadow of the cave, following Aziraphale back down the steps. “Have you ever tried? I mean have you seen anything beyond that table out there?”

“I suppose I must have, before I became the god below.”

“But you don't remember it?”

“Can't say that I do, no.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss it?” he repeated. “No. I suppose not.”

Crowley paused outside his door, ‘I'm gonna get a heavier cloak.”

Astraeus pushed off his head and flew down the hall.

“I'll meet you in the study,” said Aziraphale.

A thought wriggled its way to the forefront of Crowley’s mind. “Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“You don't miss it…”

“No.”

“Because you don't remember it. Do you wonder, though?”

Aziraphale's gaze shifted past him, back the way they'd come. “”I do,” he said quietly.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for a spider, as in, a character has a conversation with one

eelzebub walked the perimeter of the Lake, arms crossed, scowling down at the black sand. Aziraphale and the sacrifice were getting along well enough, it seemed. There was a bit of a rough start, Crowley hiding in his rooms for a few days but that was nothing new. Every sacrifice had a bit of a time adjusting, whether they were so convinced, and prepared, to die that they had no idea what to do with a sudden extension, or that they were glad for it but not glad to spend it in the Below. Either way, Crowley had gotten past that with minimal theatrics and now they had a routine of breakfast and dinner. The occasional snack. Aziraphale was happy, glad for such an agreeable sacrifice, and Beelzebub liked to see that, liked to see a smiling Aziraphale. It was so easy for the god to fall in on himself a bit in the fall and winter. Nothing to do but watch the Lake, which was usually calm that time of year anyway with no living thing in the Below. He would read and wander aimlessly, the Below empty and dead and the small fraction of the above that he could reach, cold and frozen over. Beelzebub would've jumped for joy (which for them may have looked more like an approving nod and a quiet grunt) for Aziraphale to have an offering that was willing to follow the rules, that sat and had meals with him, that seemed just the right amount of curious, _if that offering hadn’t been sent with the task of killing the god._

The Lake's surface rippled, a shoulder peeking through.

"Don't you dare," Beelzebub said, pointing a finger at the Remnant until it settled back below the surface once more.

Crowley's secret mission tainted everything about his interactions with the god.

Was he just trying to get close enough to get Aziraphale to lower his guard? Not that that would be hard, Beelzebub thought miserably.

Maybe he was trying to get as much information as he could to ensure he dealt a devastating blow. Learn all his weaknesses and kill him with one strike. Not that _that_ would be hard, Beelzebub thought, remembering how Aziraphale just practically gave out a welcome letter complete with all his secrets.

Beelzebub dragged a hand down their face. Aziraphale had insisted he trusted Crowley and that Beelzebub should do the same. What they really wanted to do was lock the sacrifice in a small corner of the Below with a little window in their door so they could stick their hand through and get the exchange done. They stopped walking. Actually... No. Aziraphale would have their head. Confronting Crowley would get them nowhere, he'd just say he had no plans to kill Aziraphale. Like a liar. The only thing they could do was watch and wait. Take note of _everything_ the mortal did or said, where he went. He'd slip up eventually. So long as they stayed diligent, nothing would get by them.

"Beelzebub, my friend," Aziraphale's voice echoed, low and gentle in the cavern, "could you come to the sitting room?"

They gave one final threatening glare over the Lake. Asteria came in to take over just as they left.

In the sitting room, Crowley was at the table, his breakfast gone, sipping a cup of tea. He shifted when Beelzebub entered. They made him nervous. _Good_.

"Hello," said Aziraphale. "I was wondering, well Crowley has asked if we could deliver a letter for him. I thought perhaps you could do it and also give me an idea of how things are going up there?"

"A letter?"

"Mhm. To his friend uh..." he turned to the mortal.

"Anathema," Crowley said, still avoiding looking at Beelzebub.

"Yes, Anathema."

They remembered her. Vaguely. They remembered hair mostly. And an attitude. Did she tell them to shut up when they met?

"Okay," said Beelzebub. This was perfect. They could read the correspondence and hopefully get an idea of what was being planned.

"Hmm," said Aziraphale, squinting at them.

"What?"

"Nothing." He turned to Crowley, "Well, that's that. And of course, we wouldn't dare dream of reading your missive, that--"

"Oh come on!" Beelzebub said without thinking.

"Beelz, that would be _rude_."

"R-Rude? Rude. That's your primary concern?"

"Of course. Crowley is a _guest_."

"Hngngn."

"In fact," he picked up the folded piece of paper and set it down in front of him before removing his glove and then ring.

Beelzebub watched with increasing frustration as Aziraphale went about sealing the blasted letter.

"There we are," he said, holding it out to Beelzebub.

"Aziraphale. I...are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"

"I'm sure that I trust Crowley and that I won't insult him by insinuating otherwise."

The mortal in question seemed to sink a little further into his seat. Good. At least he felt a bit of shame. He knew what he was there for. They all did and Beelzebub just did _not_ understand why Azirpahale insisted on playing this game.

They snatched the letter, feeling only a little guilty when Aziraphale let out a little "oh!".

"Anathema, right?"

"Yeah she uh, she lives in my tow--"

"I know where she lives," Beelzebub snapped. They left the room without waiting for Aziraphale's disapproving tut and took the first right they saw. They could have stepped through any doorway and found themselves at the town but they wanted to get a good stomping, grumbling, not-really-a-tantrum in first.

Once all of that energy was spent, Beelzebub stood on the outskirts of the town, a letter tucked into their vest and their hands balled into fists.

They actually _didn’t_ know where Anathema lived, hadn't the slightest clue, and was now realizing they would have to wander about the town, gathering clues until they pieced it together. Couldn't just ask, wouldn't do to be seen. And so, they wandered the town, listening to boring conversations, townspeople haggling over bread and eggs and ughgh, mortal lives were the _worst_.

Much of the snow had thawed, at least. Aziraphale would be happy to hear that. It didn't happen often, but every once in a while, an offering really wasn't good enough. The exchange didn't work properly and winter took longer to leave, came back quicker. Neither Beelzebub nor Aziraphale had ever figured out what caused it but it was infrequent enough they didn't worry overmuch.

After about an hour or so Beelzebub was ready to leave. The sky was so blue and the clouds were large, and fluffy, and it was disgusting. They crept up to the side of a nearby building and leaned down to the window. There were mortals mucking about inside but that's not what they were looking for. Instead, they peered down at the corner of the window where a spider sat placidly on its web.

"Hey," Beelzebub whispered.

The spider didn't stir.

"I know you're awake."

"You've scared off my dinner."

"I'll get you a new one."

The spider lifting a front leg.

"A _good_ one. A," they glanced around. Not a beetle, those were their favorites. "A moth!"

The spider slowly set its leg back down. "Well, what do you want?"

"Do you know where Anathema lives?"

"The witch?"

"She's not a witch."

"She's not like other mortals."

Beelzebub shrugged, it wasn’t a very high bar to clear as far as they were concerned.

The spider skittered to the other end of their web, pointing two legs out, "That way. Almost near the edge of town, past the house with a shed that hasn't seen the light of day in years. Oh it's so nice in there, I miss it so much."

"How'd you wind up all the way over here?"

"Breeze came by while I was mid-weaving, got blown onto someone's shoulder, you know how it goes."

Beelzebub held out their hand, "I could take you back."

"That's alright. Wife is from this area and she likes being close to the family."

They shrugged and stood upright.

"Oh!" The spider called out, "When you get to Anathema's can you tell Iago that McGuillicutty says hey? They live in the corner behind the front door."

*

Beelzebub found the house easy enough but it was empty. They looked down the path and the next cottage over they recognized; it was where Crowley had drawn his fate, where Gabriel told him of the plan. They made their way over, peering in the windows, and saw Anathema inside. They watched her water a few plants, run her fingers over various books and papers, before slipping into the next room and sitting on the bed. She looked like she was about to cry at any second and Beelzebub did _not_ want to deal with that.

They knocked on the windowpane.

She nearly jumped clear to the otherside of the room.

After a moment she pushed up her glasses, leaned forward to get a better look, and then let out a truly indignant scoff. Beelzebub watched her come to the window and unlatch it, pushing it open to better scowl at them, arms crossed.

"What do _you_ want?"

Oh they almost walked away right then and there. "Do you remember who I am?"

"I remember you not letting me say a proper goodbye to my best friend."

"Oh my god," they groaned. "You had _months_ , you knew it was going to happen. You mortals are so dramatic."

She made a rude gesture and leaned forward to grab the window and pull it closed once more.

"He's not dead," Beelzebub said.

"...what?"

"Your friend. Crowley. He's alive in the Below."

"You're lying."

"Why? Why would I come all the way up here, into your _sunlight_ , to lie to _you specifically_ about the sacrifice?"

She shrugged, "Immortals have done weirder things."

They reached into their vest and pulled out the letter. "I was asked to bring this to you. It's from him."

She took the letter with shaking hands, "Is...is he okay?"

"Is he okay? He's _fine_. Living in the Below, eating our food, and plotting to murder his god."

Her eyes widened briefly before she settled on an eyeroll. "Oh please, Crowley's not going to kill him."

"You're not denying he was sent there to do that!"

"No he was sent to be a sacrifice, the murdering was a bonus in Gabriel's eyes. Look, Crowley has never intentionally killed anything. When it rains, it takes him ten minutes to make it from here, to my house," she pointed in the direction of her home, "because he makes a point of avoiding the worms that surface. He was never, ever going to hurt the God Below, even it meant saving himself. You'd know that if you talked to him for more than five minutes. It's not who he is."

"It's my job to help Aziraphale and keep him safe. That means I don't trust any mortal." They didn't trust more than half the immortals they knew either but that was besides the point.

"Then why bring this letter? We could be making _secret plaaaans_."

"I know!" They shouted and then groaned. "Aziraphale insisted."

She ran a finger over the wax seal. "Have you read it?"

"No. He _also_ insisted on it being sealed because _he_ trusts Crowley."

"Even though he knows about the council's plan?"

"Yes," they said through gritted teeth and to their surprise Anathema made a face of complete exasperation.

"Well that's not very smart."

Beelzebub thought they might cry. No, no it _wasn’t_ smart. Why was this awful mortal the only other one who could see this?

"I mean Crowley's still never going to do anything but...well, there's going to be another sacrifice after him and they may not be so..." she fumbled for a word and finally settled on a shrug.

"Yes, exactly! That's what I've been trying to explain to him."

"Hmm. Will you bring a letter back to Crowley for me?"

"I'm an immortal, I have more to do than run errands."

"You say..running an errand."

"I-tha-for a _god_ , that's different."

"Okay well, I'm just saying... I would like to respond to him and...my letters won't be sealed."

Beelzebub blinked back at her. What sort of trick was this?

When they didnt say anything she sighed. "My best friend is still alive and I would very much like to keep it that way. Aziraphale trusts him. I'm going to put my trust in you, and maybe together we can figure...something out. I don't know what's going to happen at the end of summer but I want Crowley back."

"You can have him."

"And you want to keep Aziraphale safe from future attempts. And we still want our spring and summer. That's going to take a bit more effort to work out. You want Crowley gone and Aziraphale safe. I want Crowley back and it honestly does not seem like a good idea to murder a god, so yeah, I want Aziraphale safe too. We can help each other.”

They crossed their arms. It didn't seem like they had much choice, especially if Aziraphale was going to continue providing Crowley with all sorts of information and allow him to keep secrets.

"Fine," they said. "I'll come back in a few days to get your letter. but you have to tell me everything, not just what you're writing but what he's saying too."

She thought about that, "What's relevant to the council's task."

Beelzebub drummed their fingers against their forearm. "Alright, I can agree to that. Don’t tell Crowley I know what the letters say, not yet."

“What, why? That defeats the purpose of--”

“Because you may not know him as well as you think. It wouldn’t be the first time a friend has betr--” They stopped themselves. “Just, not yet. I want to see what he says first.”

"I don’t like it, but fine. And you probably shouldn't come here, we can meet at the altar, no one goes there unless it's time for a sacrifice."

"Fine. I'll meet you in a week."

"I can have it written soo--"

"Immortal!" Beelzebub said, waving a hand past their own body. "I have other things to do you know. So, a week from now." Without waiting for a response they turned on their heel and walked off. They were about to disappear from the above altogether when she called out.

"Hey!"

" _What_?" they said, spinning around.

"Thank you."

"What, ew, don't be gross." And with that they sunk through the ground and into the earth, the sound of Anathema's laugh following behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on twitter! @tfw_thevoid  
> Shoutout to Zari for helping me name the spiders! <3


	9. Chapter 9

wiggle escaped Aziraphale as he made his way down the hall to Crowley's room. Things had been going very well indeed. Despite Beelzebub's distrust and paranoia, Crowley had been nothing but cooperative and engaging. He didn't seem particularly afraid of the Below or how it operated. Occasionally Aziraphale found him sitting outside, looking up at the sky, but that was to be expected, really. They ate breakfast and dinner together, and if Crowley noticed that Aziraphale never ate, he didn't say anything. They'd even begun talking, casually! Crowley told him about what Drawing Day had been like, that he'd met Astraeus before any of them, and that led to his childhood nickname and then what his childhood had been like and on from there. He asked questions that Aziraphale didn't really have the answers to as he didn't remember his life as a mortal. The only relic he had from it was his signet ring. 

He knocked on Crowley's door.

"S'open!"

It wasn't, it never was, Aziraphale could feel the lock click as he turned the handle, unlocking to accommodate Crowley's wishes. He'd never seen the Below take so completely to an offering before. He wondered if it had something to do with why the Lake was behaving the way it was.

"What's wrong?" Crowley was on his feet, wide eyes searching Aziraphale's.

"Oh, so sorry, nothing. I was lost in thought."

"Must not have been a very pleasant one."

"Confusing, more like. But never mind that, are you ready for breakfast?"

"Yup, I even got," he waved a bundle of paper and some writing implements. "You know, keep me busy during the exchange."

Aziraphale turned to lead the way down the hall, and not at all to hide his flush at getting to hold Crowley's hand again. He was being ridiculous, he  _ knew _ he was, he'd held hundreds of hands, for goodness sake. But, well, there was something so very nice about Crowley's. Despite how  _ cold _ he was, that part was always a bit of a shock at first, it felt...comfortable. Before long he warmed up and they would sit quietly and amicably and Aziraphale would find himself rereading the same paragraph for the entire fifteen minutes.

"I was thinking," Crowley said as he settled in his seat at the table, "we ought to try for a full hour today."

The god almost tripped, "An hour?"

"Yeah, why not? You've said you had offerings in the past that would go for a whole day and not... well, anyway." Crowley trailed off, clearly hesitant to mention that yes, they had gone for entire days so as to avoid Aziraphale for as long as possible.

"If you think you're ready for it. It'll be like that first time, only a bit more intense. I imagine you'll be bed ridden the rest of the day."

Crowley shrugged, taking a bite of his toast, "Eh, I'll adjust. This is what I'm here for right? May as well do the actual work, yeah?"

Aziraphale busied himself with his cup of tea, holding it in his hand and breathing in the wonderful smell. Of course. Work. That's what it was to him. Do his duty for the next few months then get out and never look back. That's how it always was and yet Aziraphale still felt a pang of hurt to hear Crowley say it.

"Yes, of course."

When breakfast was over they settled in their chairs, Crowley setting his papers against a book and in his lap while Aziraphale slipped his glove off. He was surprised to see Crowley's hand already on the table between them while he fiddled with his papers. If Aziraphale didn't know any better he would've thought there was a slight flush to the man's cheeks.

Aziraphale slid his hand into Crowley's, holding his breath as he did so.

There was that initial shock of how cold the other man's fingers were, of course, and then, underneath that, the pulse of his life. It was different for every offering, grazing the core of a person. Sometimes Aziraphale got a wash of color over him, sometimes he felt as though he could see lights around them, sometimes he felt nauseous, sick at what he was in close proximity to, (those were few and far between but they always unnerved him.) But Crowley, Crowley was something else entirely.

Aziraphale smelled flowers whenever he held Crowley's hand. He couldn't say what kind they were, he had no idea. In fact, he wasn't even sure they were flowers, truth be told. There weren't many that grew near the immediate entrance to the cave. He could be smelling some kind of fruit, or a perfume, or soaps. Whatever it was, it was wonderful. Crowley was always cold but when Aziraphale held his hand he could see the light within him. He shimmered, in Aziraphale's peripheral vision, like stars. Like a comet, trailing across the sky, blink and you miss it.

He could feel the avalanche beat of Crowley's heart, always racing those first few minutes, before it settled into something calmer, more relaxed. Snowfall maybe. If Aziraphale closed his eyes, he saw all sorts of flowers and leaves and berries, gently coated in crystalline ice, frozen droplets, a dusting of snow. He didn't understand why though. Why the images he saw when he held Crowley's hand were parts of the summer and spring that they, together, were helping bring about, but...tainted with ice. With the bitter cold. It hurt his heart and so he didn't often close his eyes when they did the exchange. He sat content to smell the flower scent and feel the warmth of Crowley’s heart radiating off of him.

Then there was the actual exchanging part. The pull of life as it was drawn into him. There was no denying it felt exhilarating. The way it flooded through him, made him feel just this side of too-warm. The conscious effort it took to redirect that elsewhere, to warm the frozen snow, to thaw, to provide less clouds and more sun, it was no different than doing anything else as an immortal, less an action and more a thought, a feeling, and the world bent to his will. It frightened Aziraphale a bit, the power he had over life.

It wasn't entirely a lack of understanding that led the townspeople to call the offering a 'sacrifice'. As recently as a few centuries ago the various gods that wore the crown often did kill the offering. Draining them of their life in all sorts of unpleasant manner and redistributing it if and when it suited them. Winters were harder then. More sacrifices were offered to appease the god below. It was, altogether, a very ugly business. Aziraphale did what he could to make things easier on everyone, on the townspeople, on the offering, on himself even, as the process wasn't just tiring for Crowley.

Still, beyond all that, underneath it and around it and threaded through it, was the very un-godlike excitement just to be holding his hand. He'd thought Crowley attractive from day one and those thoughts had only grown into some sort of crush. Embarrassing, really. He was an immortal, it wouldn't do to go developing crushes on mortals. Never ended well.

He let out a little sigh, shifting in his seat, and moved to adjust his arm, to be a little more comfortable, and when his hand moved Crowley moved with him, folding his fingers between Azirpahale's.

They both stopped. Aziraphale stared just past the edge of his book, on a point on the floor. He didn't dare look at Crowley but he didn't have to, he could feel his heartbeat as it quickened, could see how the shimmer of his light grow a bit brighter. Neither one moved for what felt like entirely too long and Aziraphale didn't dare pull away. He didn't' want to risk offending Crowley, not when he was shining so beautifully, not when he was the one to fully take Aziraphale's hand. Did that mean something? Oh, he wanted it to.

Crowley shifted again, loosening his grip just a bit, but not unfolding their hands. Aziraphale wasn't sure what to do with that. Was he trying to give Aziraphale a chance to pull away? An out? Or was he trying to do it himself, but politely? He'd called it work but Aziraphale could  _ feel _ the happiness radiating off of him. Surely that counted for something. That was what he told himself, at least, as he took hold of Crowley's hand a bit more firmly.

He was rewarded, almost instantly, with another wave of shining light, a skip in his heartbeat, and outside of what the exchange enabled him to sense, he  _ heard _ Crowley take in a quick breath.

Aziraphale wiggled, he couldn't help it. Crowley laughed.

It took some time before Aziraphale was able to focus on the words in front of him and even then he wasn't retaining much of anything. It occurred to him if Crowley was paying any attention he'd realize Aziraphale hadn't turned a page since they sat down. He moved to do as much as was startled at the sound of a book hitting the floor.

"Hrm? Sorry, must've," Crowley was leaning forward, trying to pick up the items that had slipped off his lap, "must've dozed off."

"I think we ought to stop now, then."

"No, no, I'm alright honest. I wanna, y'know," he looked over at Aziraphale, eyes half-closed , "I wanna do the thing."

"You've done plenty, my dear, let's get you to bed." Aziraphale let go of his hand, the beauty of his light fading almost instantly (although the flower scent would linger for a few hours more, it always did) and tugged his glove back on. "Up you go, come on."

"Noooo, I can do it, we didn't even, full hour."

"There's no need. We have several more months yet, come now," he held out his hand.

Crowley made a face that was very nearly a pout and huffed. He pushed to his feet and as soon as he was fully upright he swayed dangerously. Aziraphale caught him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Oh dear. Can you walk?"

"We're not moving?"

"Oh,  _ dear _ . Alright then, do excuse me." Before Crowley could say anything further, Aziraphale put an arm behind his legs and swept him off his feet.

"Oh! Strong."

"Well I am a god..."

Crowley buried his face into Aziraphale's chest. "You're so warm."

"I think it's more that you're freezing. Are you eating enough?"

"Eat plenty. You're like a sunbeam..." He pulled in his arms, curling in against Aziraphale.

The god was glad he didn't have to worry about paltry things like heartbeats, he wasn't sure how loud his may have been in Crowley's ear otherwise.

"Is it alright if I take you into your room?"

"Yeah, sunshine," Crowley mumbled, "I grant you access to my bed chambers."

The door swung open as Aziraphale approached and he gently laid Crowley on the bed, gathering blankets that weren't there before to place over him. "You rest now. I'll check on you after my rounds for some tea, alright?"

Crowley mumbled something and turned onto his side, already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a little short! But I promise next one will REVEAL things >:3c  
> Comments are love and my life energy rn! Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the spoops happens my friends! Some atmospheric spoopiness and monsters, oh my. There's some violence but nothing graphic and no mention of blood. Do let me know if I need to add warnings for anything else though! <3

rowley slept almost the entire day away. When he woke up again it was evening and past dinner time. Some pastries and tea were left on a table by the bed. He took a sip of the tea to discover it was ice cold, which struck him as odd but he was asleep again before he could really analyze why. When he woke next it was to a gentle knock on the door.

"Come in," he murmured without getting up.

"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale's voice floated over to him. "How are you feeling?"

He felt completely and utterly exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so thoroughly worn down. He was hesitant to tell Aziraphale that, though. It'd only been an hour, barely that, and this was the result?

"I'm alright," he lied, pushing himself up. The room spun a bit and he blinked hard against it.

"Are you sure? It's fine if you're not, if you need to rest some more. You were quite out of it yesterday."

"Nah, it's fine I was just--" Crowley stopped as pieces of the previous day's exchange came back to him. "Oh my god..."

"Yes?"

"Did I...call you 'sunshine'?"

"Ah. Yes. You did."

He buried his face in his hands, "ohmygod..."

"Still here."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't, I don't--"

Aziraphale laughed, "It's alright."

"It really isn't. You're a _god_ first of all and," he sighed, "and you can't go out into the sun, not really. It was cruel."

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale said, sitting gently on the edge of his bed, "I promise I didn't see it that way at all."

"No?"

"No, my dear. It felt more like, well...you, like sunshine don’t you? I’ve seen the way you sit outside on the table, basking in it when the sky is clear. I suppose it’s nice to think you might, well, think of _me_ , as, something you uh, that is, what I mean,” his mouth pressed into a thin line, “it was nice,” he said finally. His cheeks went pink as he fiddled with his cufflinks.

“Oh,” Crowley managed. "Uh, maybe we can do the exchange for lunch today?"

"Oh no, we won't be doing it today."

"What? But--"

"No 'buts', my dear. You're exhausted."

"I can do--"

"As am I."

" _You_ are?"

"It takes effort on my part too, you know. And those first longer sessions of the season always leave me feeling a bit rough on the edges."

Crowley studied Aziraphale. He looked just as buoyant and soft and happy as usual. "Mhm."

"So, breakfast? And then we can see how you're feeling after that."

"I suppose I could explore some mo--"

"No."

"What?"

He pushed to his feet, pulled on his gloves. "I think it might be better if you kept to your room or the study for now. Just until you're feeling tip-top again. And I really won't take no for an answer on this I'm afraid."

"Okay..."

"Wonderful! I'll meet you in the study."

Crowley couldn't shake the feeling that something was different, something was wrong. Had he messed up the exchange somehow? He watched Aziraphale head for the door.

"Aziraphale are you _limping_?”

“Oh!” He looked down at his legs as if the answer would be written on his slacks. “Just a bit.”

“Why?”

“I got injured.”

“How?”

“Doing my rounds.”

“Wh-- _how_?”

“Hazard of the job I’m afraid. Oh, I’ll be certain to have some of those little scones you like so much.”

Crowley stared at the god, who smiled a confident little smile and left the room.

It was very clear Aziraphale had no intention of explaining what had happened to him. Every attempt Crowley made to broach the topic was answered with the same short but incredibly vague responses, or the topic was changed, or, at one point, he was flat out ignored.

There was something dangerous lurking in the depths of the Below and Crowley wanted to know what it was. Whatever it was, maybe it was something Crowley could _help_ with. He knew Beelzebub didn't trust him still, and he wasn't sure Aziraphale was quite ready for the full murder-plot-confessoin, but if he could find someway of helping with the Below, something _beyond_ his expectations as an offering, then maybe the immortals would know for sure they could trust him. It seemed the Below had taken to him, maybe that meant something.

Later that evening, after saying their goodnights, Crowley went to his room and sat on his bed and waited. He didn't really have any way of telling how much time had passed but he waited until he thought it long enough and then waited a little more. Finally, he tiptoed across the floor and to his door, opening it a crack.

The hall was empty.

So far, so good. He gently shut the door behind him and turned right. If they weren't going to tell him what was going on then he would just have to figure it out himself. Crowley made it to the end of the hall and turned right once more. He made it about three steps before freezing in place.

There was a shadow along the wall that made no sense. It was huge, the shadow of a hulking figure but the hall was empty. The shadow was three times as wide as Crowley and stretched up the entire length of the wall, up and over, halfway across the ceiling.

"...what?"

At the sound of his voice the shadow moved. It turned and two small, piercing blue eyes looked at him.

"Oh shit..."

The shadow shifted and took a step forward, seperating from the wall to stand in the middle of the hall.

Crowley turned and ran.

Once he made it to his room he slammed his door shut, grabbing the key from the table and locking it. He climbed into the bed, back against the headboard and arms around his legs, staring at the door. "Please stay locked, please stay locked..." It was some time before he fell asleep and it wasn't restful. 

The next morning Aziraphale took one look at him and declared they were going to forego the exchange that day as well. Crowley agreed, not because he was still weak, just the opposite. He felt a bit of his usual strength had returned and he wanted all of it for that evening. He was going to try again and hopefully there wouldn’t be any terrifying shadow creatures lurking in the halls.

After bidding Aziraphale a goodnight, Crowley waited in his rooms about as long as he could stand it. Then, heart pounding, he cracked open his door and peeked out. The hall was empty.

"Psst," he whispered, "Astraeus?"

"Mrah?"

Crowley jumped and turned around to see the crow sitting on his bed frame.

"Hey...so. I was thinking of going for a walk. Can't sleep. Thought I might explore a bit? Wanna be my chaperone again?"

Astraeus tilted his head at Crowley with a fully accusatory look.

Crowley shrugged, "What?"

He didn't suspect the bird was buying it but Astareus ruffled his feathers and flew to the top of his head just the same. A careful peek out the door showed an empty hall again. Hopefully with an immortal keeping him company any wandering shadow monsters would keep their distance.

Crowley turned right. He wasn't walking for long before he realized the halls...weren't the same as the previous night. He was ready, heart pounding, to find that same corner, that same hall with the shadow but it wasn't there. He couldn't say how he knew the next right he came upon wasn't the same one, but he did.

They walked in silence. The gentle scuff of Crowley's footsteps and the hem of his skirts the only sound. He ran his fingers along the stone of the walls as he walked. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Some sort of clue. 

He turned another right and Astareus shifted on his head, moving around, fluttering his wings.

"Oi, stop that. Ow, your feet hur--stop that!"

He turned another right and was faced with a flight of stairs going down. He couldn't see the bottom.

Astraeus pushed off his head, fluttering around, making a general racket. He pulled at Crowley's sleeves, at his skirts, even his hair, pulling him away from the stairs.

"Ow! Ow! Stop it! I'm going down there Astraeus, you can't sto--OW!" Crowley flailed his hands about until the bird let go. He kept his arms over his head, waiting for the next onslaught, but none came. When he looked around, Astraeus was gone.

He scoffed, "Fine! I'll just go alone, then. I'm not scared, y'know."

When he turned to face the stairwell he wasn't sure that was entirely true.

Crowding himself up against the wall, Crowley slowly took the first step. As he did, a handful of torches lit with blue flames appeared along the wall, beyond them, the darkness continued. The stairwell was narrow and it wasn't long before the wall felt damp. Crowley looked to see moss that shimmered in purple. A few more torches lit the way, appearing with gentle fwooshes as the flame came to life. The steps took on a sheen. Crowley let out a shaky breath and saw it fog in the air. He cupped his hands around his mouth, tring to breathe warmth into them through the gloves. Another wave of torches to light his path. His stomach clenched as he convulsed with a full-body shiver. Just a little further, whatever was down there, he must be close. Two more torches appeared and with them he could see the landing.

Crowley hesitated. He couldn't see more than a few feet out and the space seemed to open up. He could hear something dripping; it sounded like it was landing in more water. He grabbed one of the torches, half-afraid it would go out when he touched it but it remained lit, and bright, and cold. Where heat would have emanated off of actual flame, Crowley could feel a faint chill casting down on his hand from the blue flames.

He stepped forward, trying to get his bearings. Without any idea or clue where to go, he followed the dripping sound. Before long it got louder, closer and more sounds began to join it. The sound of wood creaking. The faint rustle of...leaves? It sounded like the wind when it blew through tall grass, just a hint of it, here and there. But he couldn't feel any breeze. The Below was as cold as ever, colder even, if possible, but there was no wind.

His steps had grown smaller, more hesitant. He still couldn't see a blasted thing beyond the circle of blue light. Crowley cast out a trembling hand to feel for something, anything, but drew it back just as quickly when he realized the light didn't even reach his fingertips. He took another small, shuffling step, and swallowed a yelp as his foot stepped in something wet.

Crowley shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly lowered into a squat so he could see what it was.

Water, it looked like. The toe of his shoes just barely gracing it. He couldn't tell how much of it there was, if it got any deeper.

"Please," he whispered, "I need something to work with here."

A moment passed, then another, and then slowly, light started to fill the area. A pale blue, bright as anything. Crowley looked up to see an opening in the cave above, the clouds parting to reveal a full moon. He was so, so far underground. The walls of the cave seemed to go on for miles.

He took in his surroundings, now lit, and the sounds he heard made more sense. He was standing at the edge of a bog of sorts, in front of a wooden bridge that led through it. That was what was creaking. On both sides of the bridge were tree stumps, hollows with brittle, dead branches that seemed to reach for him. Tall, brown grass that rustled every so often. The bridge was a few inches below the water.

Crowley swallowed and stepped onto it. He hissed as his feet were fully submerged; the water was like ice. The bridge itself went on a ways, curving down around a particularly thick copse of trees and grass that Crowley couldn’t see through. A cloud passed over the moon, a thin wisp of a thing but it was enough to plunge the majority of the cavern back into darkness.

Gritting his teeth, Crowley pushed on.

His boots were soaked through almost instantly. He'd hoped he would acclimate to the chill of the water but every new step was like a fresh descent into a frozen tundra. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he couldn't keep going for much longer, not without catching a deadly chill. The path may be good enough for gods and other immortals but he was very human.

As he approached the turn Crowley found it harder to catch his breath. It was _so cold_. He was shivering, he was tired, and he was honestly getting a little scared. He pushed on, taking the turn in a rush before he could think better of it. The bridge continued on a short ways before it seemed to disappear into a much smaller cave opening. Smaller in comparison to the heights of the cavern he was in, really it was the size of a regular doorway. Crowley went towards it, noticing that the water became more and more shallow until he was on the final plank of the bridge and when he stepped off it was onto...sand? He squatted down once more, pushing his gloved fingers into it, grabbing a handful.

Black sand trickled out of his hand and back down to the ground. It shimmered in the torchlight like jewels.

He pushed to his feet. He was in another narrow hall. No more lights appeared as he followed and he wasn't sure if it was because he had the torch or not, but he was grateful he'd taken it just the same. Another doorway was at the end, he could see it because of the torches on either side. 

Something in Crowley twisted. This was it. Whatever _it_ was, whatever he'd gone down into the Below in search of, it was beyond that door.

With a steadying breath, he went through.

Splayed out before him, stretching far, much farther than he could've imagined, was, without a doubt, the Lake. Crowley realized just how inadequate his imaginings had been. It was immense. He couldn't see the shore on the other side, only that it seemed to disappear into the cave wall. The cavern itself was enormous, so much so that when it finally opened up to the sky, the moon seemed closer.

He stood near one end, the water moving in a gentle ebb and flow, as the rest of the Lake continued out ahead and to his right. He took a few steps, the sand shifting, the gentle crunch of it echoing in the cavern.

Where was everyone? He'd gotten the impression the Lake was always being watched. He looked around and with a squint thought he could make out the white of Aziraphale's hair, way down the shore on his left. Standing next to the god was the shadow creature he'd seen the other night. Crowley thought they might have been talking but he couldn't be sure. 

He took a step forward, his toes touching the water, and Aziraphale's head snapped toward him.

"NO!"

The surface of the water rippled, as though a huge boulder had been dropped in the center of it. The resulting waves crashed against the shore. Then the water started to bubble.

Fear gripped Crowley as he took a step back.

Something milky white broke the surface. He watched as fingertips appeared at the edge of the water, gripping into the sand and pulling. The hand that followed wasn't attached to anything. There was no blood or gore or anything of the sort, it could have been a broken piece of a statue if not for how lifelike it was moving. It broke free of the water and started walking, _walking_ , across the sand on its fingertips. Straight toward Crowley.

He looked out at the Lake to see more...pieces coming out. More hands, arms, a pair of hips and legs. Some went all over, running across the sand, heading for the walls, for the shafts of moonlight, but many, many more were moving with a singular focus toward Crowley.

Crowley scrambled backward. His heel caught his skirt and he hit the sand hard.

"CROWLEY!"

He could hear Aziraphale but he couldn't see him. He couldn't take his eyes off of the things coming toward him. And then the hand that was closest, that first hand stopped and turned. Without thinking Crowley looked in the direction it had turned towards and saw something _else_ coming out of the Lake. Something bigger. 

He realized, all at once, that what he'd been feeling, the twist in his chest, was fear of the unknown, confusion mixed with ignorance warped into panic. He realized this because when he saw the creature that lumbered out of the water, he felt _true_ fear. It gripped his chest with an unrelenting hold and squeezed every breath out of him. His heart hit a wall and then sped up, every molecule in his body telling him to run, to go, to get away but he remained frozen on the ground.

It was an amalgamation of parts, connected at seams that shouldn't go together, disjointed and lumbering. Too many legs, too many arms, too many, too much. Where the other Lake inhabitants were pristine and smooth, like marble, the creature before him was cracked and chipped, peeling like paint. It had a tinge of red to it, like a light that glowed from within, bleeding through at the seams.

The creature took a few thudding steps and then turned. It looked at Crowley. It didn't have eyes, it didn't have a _face_ , but Crowley knew it had seen him, sensed him somehow. He scrambled backwards, black sand kicking up into the air, tangled in wet skirts and a cloak, feet numb from the cold, until his back hit the cave wall. The creature was running toward him.

With a whimper Crowley curled in on his side, covering his face and head.

He gasped as all the air in the room seemed to get sucked away, and just as quickly it was back, a wave of hitting it him and pushing him against the cave wall. When it subsided he curled further in on himself, taking quick, desperate breaths, his face pushing against the sand. When nothing crashed into him, didn't grab him, when he felt no pain, he risked a peek between his fingers.

The shadow creature was flinging the smaller Lake escapees back into the water with wide sweeps of its hand. A roar ripped Crowley's attention in the other direction. There was yet another monster. It had the body of a lion and was easily three times the size of any mountain cat Crowley had ever seen. It also had wings. Huge, fluttering black wings that smacked at the Lake monster. It's neck was long, way too long, but Crowley couldn't see its face. Couldn't see if it was the face of a cat, or a bird, or something else equally disturbing. The tail wasn't a tail at all but a snake. Crowley almost didn't see it as its black scales camouflaged it against the sand, but it flashed out to strike and Crowley saw its bright red underbelly.

The two monsters fought in a flurry that Crowley could barely keep track of, much less tell who was winning. He didn't even know who he wanted to win. The mass of limbs from the Lake rammed into the lion, sending them both to the ground in a sideways skid. The limbs wasted no time in attacking again, punching and clawing at the lion, who kicked with its hind legs, snake-tail hissing and striking. With a roar the lion kicked the mass away, rolled onto its feet, smacked the mass back down with its wing, and dealt a devastating blow with its claws.

Several of the limbs went flying, some hit the cave wall, others sunk into the Lake. The red glow faded, the remaining limbs falling still. The lion struck it lazily again with its paw for good measure.

Crowley held his breath, daring not to move, not to make a sound. The lion took a step and stumbled, it was injured but Crowley couldn't see where. The shadow creature started to make its way toward them. Where was Aziraphale? Where--

“Aziraphale!”

Beelzebub appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and ran up to the lion.

“...Aziraphale?” Crowley whispered.

The lion’s long, long neck turned, it’s face swiveling around to look at Crowley and...and it was Aziraphale’s face. Amidst a fluff of black feathers that shined blue, was the god’s soft, soft face, his expression distant and unreadable.

Crowley crawled forward and reached out a hand to touch the soft fur of his flank when the tail whipped around, hissing in his face. He jerked away.

"Don't," Aziraphale said. His voice vibrated through the cavern. Crowley could feel it in the sand, in the air. It was deeper than usual. He could feel the hum of power in it. "I can't...control it...the...the exchange...while...in this form. I'll...destroy you."

Before Crowley could respond Aziraphale eyes fluttered shut and he swayed dangerously.

"You," Beelzebub growled, "get out."

"I--what can I--"

"You can _leave_. Astraeus! Take him back to his rooms and keep him there!"

The shadow creature that had been lurking at the edge of all this nodded. Its form shimmered and rippled, pulling in on itself until it shrank down to the vague shadow of a bird and then, with a pop, it _was_ a bird. Astraeus took two hops toward Crowley, fluttering his wings and pecking at Crowley's shoes.

In a daze, he pushed to his feet, moving toward the entrance he'd come through. Just as he stepped over the threshold he heard a loud thump and turned to see Aziraphale on his side. Beelzebub knelt near him, hands hovering over several gashes.

And then the stone of the cavern pinched shut, leaving Crowley staring at a wall.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Crowley lay staring at the ceiling. He hadn't slept all night. Astraeus stayed in his room with him, perched comfortably on the table by the door. After a while, morning, he assumed, Astraeus left with a quick caw. He turned into a shadowy wisp of a bird and slipped between the door and the frame. When nothing else happened Crowley got up and opened his door to see Asteria sitting in the hall. She immediately started yelling, cawing and flapping at him, until he went back inside. Where he laid on the bed some more.

Eventually there was a quick knock, it sounded like a beak pecking at the door. He opened it and Asteria gestured to a plate on the floor with some breakfast.

"No thanks," Crowley said quietly, and closed the door again.

He'd gotten Aziraphale injured. He knew he wasn't supposed to wander the Below. Well, no, he frowned, he wasn't supposed to go to the Lake and he hadn't been _planning_ to go to the Lake. He just wanted to learn more about what was going on. Why did the Below lead him there? How was that his fault?

By afternoon there was another peck at his door, another food delivery that he turned away, and then he was back in the bed. He couldn't shake himself of the sinking feeling in his stomach. He wanted Aziraphale to trust him and all he'd done was get the god injured. He hadn't seen or heard from Aziraphale all day. Not even Beelzebub had come in to yell at him, and he was sure they would. What did that mean? How badly hurt was he?

Crowley pushed to his feet. Asteria was still out there and he knew she wouldn't let him leave. There had to be some way to check in on Aziraphale.

He looked up at the ceiling, "Well? How can I see him? C'mon! Give me a...a path! Something!"

The blue fire of the chandelier didn't flicker.

"Think, think, think." He'd found the path to the outside just by saying he wanted it. But he hadn't said he wanted the Lake. Just that he needed a clue. There had to be more to it. Was there something else he'd done? Some other way he was communicating with the Below?

Crowley rubbed his hands together, blowing into them for warmth. Blinking, he looked down at his gloved fingertips, at the bits of moss and sand on them. He'd touched the walls. Both when he first found the path outside and to the Lake, he'd run his fingers along the walls.

He rushed over to the wall and pushed his hands against it. After a moment he pulled away, yanking his gloves off and putting his hands back on the wall. It was cold but he thought direct contact would work better. If it worked at all.

He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. He wasn't sure what he was reaching for, what he expected to feel, if anything, but he knew the Below listened to him. "Please," he said, "you know where I want to go. I just need to see him, just for a moment."

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the wall in front of him. While he watched, it shimmered, like water, and the rock surface cracked, splintered and pulled away from itself, revealing a doorway. Crowley stepped through.

He followed the narrow hall, his arms brushing against the walls. In the distance, he heard muffled voices and he slowed down, stepping as lightly as he could. Just ahead was another doorway, the light coming through it was muted, as though he were looking through murky glass.

Crowley tip toed up to it.

On the other side was a room he'd never seen before. A large bed took up the majority of the space and what was left was filled with books. Shelves built into the stone walls that were overflowing with volumes. Stacks on the floor, on a desk off to the side. What space wasn't taken up by books was covered in throws and pillows. A fireplace lit with blue flames took up another wall. It was purely for aesthetics, it had to be, those flames were cold.

There were other things too. Paintings and scrolls of art on the wall, colorful weavings and tapestries, baskets and the like. Things, Crowley realized, that Aziraphale could touch without destroying. Art and signs of life he could appreciate. And, tucked in a corner, was what looked like a sword.

Crowley didn't have much time to think on that as he heard a shuffling from beyond the frame of his window into the room. Soon though, Aziraphale came into sight. He made his way to one of the bookshelves, a hand pressed to his side. He was severely dressed down and it fully hit Crowley that he was in fact spying on the god in his bed chambers. It wasn't anything scandalous, truly, he was still fully clothed, although...he had taken his gloves off.

He watched Aziraphale trail his fingers over the spines of books with a little hum. He glanced over at a basket full of rolled up scrolls and got distracted pinching the weave of the handle between his fingers, tracing over the patterns and the colors.

"What are you doing?"

Crowley flinched, pulling away from the doorway at the sound of Beelzebub's voice. But it wasn't directed at him.

"I just wanted to get a book, Beelz."

"You shouldn't be moving about."

"I should be having lunch with Crowley. Or dinner. I've quite lost track of time to be honest, is it--"

"You should be kicking that traitor out of the Below!" Beelzebub came into view then. "Let him and the rest of his stupid, stupid town freeze to death."

"Beelzebub! That's--"

"Only fair! He tried to get you killed! He knew not to go to the Lake and--"

"I'm sure it was an accident."

"An _accident_? How can you say that when--"

"Because I choose to believe in the kindness of others," Aziraphale said simply. "And because I trust him." He held up a hand at Beelzebub's bubbling outrage, "When we do the exchange I...Beelz I've felt cruelty in people. I've felt their anger and their hatred and their intent to destroy. I’ve never felt anything even remotely close to that with Crowley. Not once."

"I still think--"

"I know what you think," he said. "It's been noted. Oh! Speaking of notes, did you meet up with Crowley's friend? To get her letter back?"

"Wha--No! No, I was too busy making sure you were taken care of and that the Remnants didn't swarm again and that Astraeus was properly keeping guard and a dozen other things!"

Aziraphale chose a book from his shelf. "Well, that's all taken care of now so, perhaps you can pop up topside?"

"You're going to let them continue communicating with each other? Let him send letters you won't let us _read_?"

The god let out a heavy sigh. "I...honestly I'm not sure what my next steps are. I do agree that, perhaps some things should change."

"We could lock him up."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a conversation?"

"Yeah, of course. We'll just ask him outright. 'Scuse us, but what are your intentions with the God Below, truly?"

Aziraphale smiled at that, "You make it sound like he’s a suitor."

Beelzebub scoffed. "Don’t think I haven’t seen your giddy little smiles when you two are together.”

“I--wha--I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. I'm going topside. And _you_ are going to stay in your rooms and _not_ deal with the offering until I get back."

Aziraphale's brow quirked, "Which one of us is the god here? I remind you there is a hierarchy in the Bel--OW!" He cried out when Beelzebub took a step forward and jabbed him in his side.

"See? You're still injured. You need rest. Astraeus and Asteria can't touch him in their shadow forms, they can't protect you from him like that and they can't do much as birds if he--"

"I don't think--"

"I don't _care_."

Their shout echoed in the room. Beelzebub sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. "Aziraphale, please. For me, can you stay here until I get back? I'd...I'd feel better knowing you were safe. He can't find you here."

"I suppose I shouldn't then point out that he shouldn't have been able to find the Lake?"

They groaned, "You. Bed. Read your silly human stories and rest."

Crowley watched Aziraphale dutifully slide into the bed and beneath his covers. Beelzebub left and the god seemed to consider getting right back out but he sighed and settled in, opening his book.

Heart pounding, Crowley went back down the hall to his own room.

Aziraphale was okay, for the most part. He wasn’t grievously wounded, he could still move about, make his snarky little remarks. Still, he wouldn’t be hurt at all if not for Crowley. Now Beelzebub trusted him even less which, really could he blame them? He didn’t know how he was going to admit to the town’s assassination plot while convincing the immortals he was trustworthy.

And then there was Beelzebub’s comment about Aziraphale being giddy…

He shook his head, he couldn’t think about that. First, he had to make it right. He had to figure out some way to make it better. Over the past couple of weeks he'd built up a small supply of odds and ends. Nothing close to what he had back home, but he had a basket for his foraging, some smaller jars and the like for storing things, a mortar and pestle. Once he was back in his room, the wall closing up behind him, he gathered it all up. He returned to the wall and placed his hand against it, thinking of the small pond with the various fungi and flora. The wall shimmered and reopened.

*

Beelzebub pushed up through the ground behind Anathema's cottage, not caring if any mortals saw. They knocked on her door and she had the nerve to look annoyed when she opened it and saw them.

"You didn't show!"

"I was busy," they said, pushing past her and into the house.

"Hey!"

"Busy because Crowley tried to get Aziraphale killed!"

She stared back at them, "...what? How?"

"Doesn't matter, he--"

"It does too matter because Crowley wouldn't do th--"

"And _yet_ , I have a wounded god on bed rest."

She paced. "No. No that doesn't. Crowley wouldn't, he wouldn't. What _happened_?"

"He trespassed. And there were consequences."

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Nothing. But that's only because it's not up to me."

"So what now?"

"I want to know what he said in his letter to you. And I want to see what you were going to tell him in return."

She sighed, "All he said was that he was alive, and that we had it all wrong, and that...he missed me."

"Show it to me."

It looked as though she might argue but after a moment she huffed and disappeared further into the house. She came back and shoved the letter at Beelzebub.

> _ANATHEMA!!_
> 
> _I'm alive. Ta-da! That's the good news. The_ _great_ _news is that apparently I don't have to die at all! The bad news is that...I don't have to die at all. The worst news is that I dont have to die, no one has ever died, at least while Aziraphale's been the god below, and our town has it all wrong, and the plan that the town has come up with, you know THE GREAT PLAN, is really, really stupid cause he's really, really nice._
> 
> _And I don't know what to do._
> 
> _I mean we both know that I wasn't ever gonna help make the plan a reality? I don’t know how to phrase this without being obvious, I don’t think they’ll let me send a letter without reading it but_ _you know what I’m talking about_ _. But that doesn't mean the next sacrifice won't try. And, Anathema, he's SO NICE. He's just. I don't have words. There's got to be something we can do, yeah? Because I don't know what to do. I want to tell him, honestly. But I'm afraid he'll get angry and he'll, well I don't know. Whatever angry immortals do. I can't picture it with him and I don't want to._
> 
> _You've always got the answers! Drink some tea and tell me what to do!_
> 
> _Also, hi, I love you and I miss you and how are you? How are my plants? How's princess? Are you doing alright? I wish I'd thought of this sooner, I wish I'd been able to get word to you sooner. I'm so sorry, I can't imagine how much you've been hurting...thinking I'm gone. I'm not. And at the end of the summer, apparently, I can come back! No one's ever done it because, well, remember Shadwell? Yeah, turns out?_ _Not_ _a ghost. We've got it all so, so wrong. Do you think we can explain that to Gabriel? To the rest of the council? The sacrifices don't die and they can come back and just live their lives! Be with their families! You know, if we don't chase them off for being ghosts._
> 
> _I'm rambling, I bet. Also bet you love it. Impart your wisdom upon me oh great seer._
> 
> _Love you,_ _  
> _ _Crowley_

Beelzebub frowned. They wanted to be angry. They wanted to keep their wariness. But no matter how they read the letter it didn't seem like there were hidden messages, besides Crowley avoiding talking directly about the murder plot. There was no code or calls to arms. It was just a friend reaching out, asking for advice, and speaking their love.

"Well?" said Anathema.

They held it out to her with a grunt.

“You have to believe me, we don't want to hurt Aziraphale. Murdering gods just seems like a really bad idea.”

“And yet Crowley--”

“Is kind of an idiot!” She said, throwing her hands up. “I love him but he should've just told you both the truth right from the beginning. And honestly, if Aziraphale _had_ read this before letting you bring it, what was Crowley even going to say to explain it away? I’d love to know. Anywhere here,” she held out another piece of paper to them. “My response.”

> _I've tried starting this letter a dozen different ways and there's no greeting or opening I can think of that will show you just how much I've missed you and how happy I am to hear from you Crowley!!_
> 
> _The God Below is nice? I find that really hard to believe if his assistant is anything to go by._

Beelzebub looked up at Anathema, "You knew I was going to read this."

She sipped her tea, blinking big eyes at them.

> _Important stuff first: Talk to him._
> 
> _TALK._   
> _TO._ _  
> _ HIM.
> 
> _I'm going to try and talk to the council but you_ _know_ _how hard it is to get them to listen to anything that isn't the sky falling. I'll be lucky if I can get an audience before the next Drawing Day. And that's not counting the time it will take to convince them to abandon this plan._
> 
> _In the meanwhile you could be talking to Aziraphale. Maybe he'll have an idea. He is a_ _god_ _, Crowley. He's been doing this for who knows how long, has interacted with countless offerings, he has more knowledge on the matter than our entire town combined. In the absolute worst case scenario, if we can't, you know, thwart the council’s great plan then we can at least make sure Aziraphale is prepared for future sacrifices that are less upstanding._
> 
> _That's my wisdom. Now for once_ _listen to me_ _._
> 
> _Your plants are doing just fine. Princess hasn't been around much. I think she misses you. Makes two of us. Bored out of my mind. You're right, it's been really hard Crowley. I think I spent the first week crying in your bed. But you're alive and you're okay and we can figure this out. I promise. Talk to him. Tell me what he says._
> 
> _Love you,_ _  
> _ _Anathema_

Beelzebub refolded the letter and stuffed it in their vest.

“Listen,” said Anathema, “I...did a reading for him before you came to get him that night and...I think Crowley is _supposed_ to be down there. I don't know what’s happening, but he's where he's supposed to be, here's there for a _reason._ ”

They tried not to think about the way the Below was taking to him, molding to his wants. “Big deal, you did a reading.”

“And I’ve never been wrong.”

They scoffed, “You’ve _never_ been wrong?”

“Never.”

“Alright then. Do me.”

“I...you’re an immortal I don’t think I can…”

“What? Tell my future?”

“Ugh, I read _paths_ ,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Sometimes it’s the future, sure. Sometimes it’s the past. Sometimes it’s the path you’re currently on.”

“So read mine.”

She chewed on her lip.

“What do you need? Blood? Strand of hair?”

“No no, none of those are…” She took a breath studying them.

Beelzebub found they struggled not to squirm under the intensity of her gaze.

“None of those are right.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just know.” She picked up her cup. “Here drink the last of my tea. Swirl it first. Then finish it. Don't drink the leaves!”

Beelzebub made a face into the cup but did as she asked. It was surprisingly good. Not that they’d tell her that. When they moved the cup away they could feel a small piece of tea leaf on their lip. They raised their hand to wipe it away but Anathema darted forward and grabbed their wrist.

She frowned at their mouth.

“What?”

“Hmm. Cup. Gimme.” She took it with more care than they’d seen her handle _anything_ so far and peered down into it, turning it this way and that. “Hmm.”

“Well? What’s it say? I should avoid salads? Might upset my tummy?”

“Forget it.” The cup thunked hard against the table as she slammed it down.

“Tell me.”

“You won’t believe me so what’s the point?”

Beelzebub crossed their arms.

“Fine. It says,” she took a deep breath and let it out slow, “it says ‘help could come from an unexpected quarter’.”

The air sparked as the words were spoken. Judging from the mildly annoyed look on Anathema’s face, she hadn’t felt it. She didn’t know.

They tried to keep their face impassive as they uncrossed their arms and turned for the door. “You’re right,” they tossed over their shoulder with as much nonchalance as they could muster. It was hard when the air still tasted like smoke; threads burned as new ones were strung. “I don’t believe you,” they lied.


	12. Chapter 12

It didn't take long for Crowley to gather the supplies he needed. He wasn't yet familiar with all the properties of the various fungi and plants the Below had to offer, but he trusted that the Below wouldn't give him anything poisonous. After all, Aziraphale had said the room hadn't existed before he entered it.

When he was back in his own rooms he set about mixing the salve. He wanted to give it to Aziraphale right away, especially since he knew Beelzebub would likely be at the Lake. He opened his room door to get an earful from Asteria and then closed it again. He thought it would be good to make an appearance, sure they would check in if he was too quiet or kept refusing food. With that done, he went back to the far wall and pressed his hand to it.

The stone pulled away for him immediately, revealing the same narrow hall he'd wandered down earlier only this time there wasn't a murky window at the other end, it opened clearly into Aziraphale's room.

The god was out of bed again, back at his bookcase, a book in hand that he idly flipped through. He wasn't wearing his gloves.

Crowley cleared their throat and Aziraphale jumped. He thought he saw a flash of wings, a hint of a serpentine tail, his eyes were certainly bluer. But then his gaze fully settled on Crowley and he relaxed. Not by much though.

"Crowley."

"Hi. I uh. S-sorry. I didn't mean to bother you. I only, I brought something for you."

"You brought something for me."

"Yeah."

"Here."

"Mhm."

"To my rooms." He glanced from Crowley over to the right, where the actual door must've been. "Directly to my rooms."

Crowley knew Aziraphale must have been thinking about how he wasn't supposed to be able to find these rooms but didn't think it would help his case any if he revealed he'd also listened in on the conversation earlier.

"Uh. Yeah," he said. "Mhm."

Aziraphale shifted, slowly putting his book down. Crowley didn't miss how the god's gaze rested on the sword in the corner for a moment before looking away. It hurt to think he'd managed to ruin things so much that the god was considering what weapons were available.

"What did you bring, my dear?"

"Oh. Uh," he held up the two jars. "Salves, for your wound. Well, brought two. One's more of a topical thing if you...if it's just bruising and the other is if you have, if there's...gashes or..." he swallowed. "I wasn't sure the extent of the damage I caused."

Aziraphale's face softened at that.

"Would it be alright if I...you know, applied it? I know you're a _god_ and it, it probably won't do anything to help but please I, I can't make it right but..." He sighed. “I want to know what I did.”

He thought Aziraphale might tell him no, tell him to get out. He'd be well within his rights to.

"Alright," he said.

He removed his jacket. Crowley tried not to watch as he undid each button with precise movements. He set it aside on the bed and went to untuck his shirt. Crowley's grip on the jars tightened. And then he lifted his shirt , turning to the side a bit, to reveal a hideous bruise that went from hip to armpit, and spanned across his ribs.

“Oh god…”

“That's me,” Aziraphale said lightly.

Crowley couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. He'd done this. Had been the cause of it. He set the jars aside and started to tug a glove off.

"No no, leave those on if you please."

"Oh. Right." He pulled them back into place. "Might be cold," he said quietly, scooping some of the salve onto his fingertips.

"Smells good."

Crowley's fingers shook as he gently applied the salve. His mind was at war with guilt over what had happened and the knowledge that he was touching Aziraphale in a way he hadn't before and it felt strangely intimate, given the circumstances.

"Should help with any aches," he said, more to fill the silence than anything.

"If Beelzebub came in right now they'd have a fit."

"Probably think I'm trying to poison you."

"Well you were sent here to kill me after all."

He froze. Hands shaking, he took a step back. Aziraphale slowly lowered his shirt, regarding Crowley with the same gentle eyes he always did.

"How long have you known?" There was no point in denying it.

"Since Drawing Day."

" _Drawing Day_?" he squeaked. "Wh-I-Why haven't you said anything?"

"Why haven't you?"

"I...you have to know I wasn't going to do anything. I swear it, Aziraphale."

"Yes well...I think perhaps it would behoove us all to have a bit of a sit-down and discuss matters as they currently stand."

“I--”

“You should go back to your rooms. I think in the morning you and I and Beelzebub will talk.”

“Yeah...alright." He set the jar down. "Uh...for later. If you..want. Right.”

Crowley went back to his room and sat on his bed. Aziraphale knew. Had _always_ known. How differently would things have gone if he’d just told them what the council was planning from the beginning? He lay on his bed as his thoughts spun. Eventually one of the twins knocked on his door with more food, which he took and ate, but had no recollection of doing so. Then he climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, the smooth ceiling that the Below had made for him because he asked, and the next thing he knew there was another knock on his door. Stronger than before, a person, not a bird.

He shuffled out of bed. He must have fallen asleep at some point, not that he felt rested at all. Aziraphale was on the other side of the door, awake and alert and smile in place.

“Good morning, my dear. Breakfast?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t eat. Didn’t have the stomach for it. Not with the weight of whatever was to come looming over him. He held onto his cup of tea, for the warmth, and waited.

Beelzebub stood by the doorway, arms crossed, and scowling. Their position by the only exit may have felt more threatening if Crowley didn't know he could get through the walls themselves. And then there was Aziraphale who, well...was Aziraphale. Sat in his seat, smelling his cup of tea, with a small smile on his face as if things weren't about to get incredibly awkward.

“So,” the god started.

“You were sent to kill him,” said Beelzebub.

“Beelz!”

“It's true!”

“Technically,” Crowley heard himself saying, “I was sent to be the sacrifice, the killing was just...y'know, if I could. But I never agreed to that! You've got to believe me.”

“We don’t _have_ to do anything,” said Beelzebub.

“ _Enough_ ,” said Aziraphale, and the room seemed to vibrate with it. His smile was gone. “We won't get anywhere going in pointless accusatory circles. Here is what I would like established out of this conversation: I want to know, from _you_ , Crowley, what you were tasked with and why. And what your intentions are going forward. For my part, I will share what we already knew and what I hope to have happen going forward. Am I missing anything?”

“I want to know what you were doing at the Lake,” said Beelzebub. “And how you got there.”

“Ah yes,” said Aziraphale. “That's important too.”

Crowley shifted, “Yeah, alright. Then I want to know _what_ the Lake is and _what_ came out of it.”

“That's fair," said Aziraphale. He took a small breath, “Is...that all you want to know about what happened that night?”

Crowley frowned. What else was there to ask about? Asteria and Astraeus were some kind of shadow immortal. There was the Lake, the things _inside_ the Lake, and...oh. The form Aziraphale had taken. He was avoiding Crowley’s gaze now, fiddling with his gloves and cup.

“No,” Crowley said. “Not really.”

“Ah. I thought perhaps, well, there were quite a few...sights to shock you and--”

“Aziraphale.”

“Hmm?”

“You're a god. I have no reason to assume that the way you present yourself to me is in fact...the way you are. And well, I wasn't scared. I’m _not_ scared. Not of you...never of you.”

“Oh.” His smile returned.

“Ughg!” Beelzebub groaned from the door, “Can we _please_ focus on the important parts of this? Like the attempted murder?”

“I haven't attempted anything!”

“Then why were you at the Lake? How did you get the Remnants to react that way? To attack Aziraphale?”

“The _what?_ I don't even know what those _are_ . As for why I was there, I don't _know_ . I wasn't, I wasn't _trying_ to get to the lake. I just...I wanted to know what was going on, why Aziraphale was limping. I didn’t know that had to do with the Lake, I mean, yeah alright I suspected, but I asked the Below to help me, to give me a hint and I just followed the path it provided for me. That's hardly my fault if the Below directs me there!”

“He does have a point Beelz,” Aziraphale said. “Although,” he continued, cutting Beelzebub’s outcry off, “when Astraeus tried to stop you Crowley that was a fairly large clue you should not have continued.”

He hunched his shoulders, “Yeah you got me there.”

“So you can't control them?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nope. Don't even know what they are. Remnants you said? None of our stories about the Below mention those. Can't control them. I didn't mean for them to attack you.”

“To be fair,” Aziraphale said, “I think they only attacked me because I was between them and _you_. They were going for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you're alive. And they're not.”

“What are they?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, opened his hands, and sighed “...I don't know.”

“You don’t _know?”_

“No. I don't know what the Lake is either. I know it's here, and it's a part of the Below. I know it's home to the Remnants. I know that it's my job to guard both. The Remnants are...fragments. They're not alive. And until that night, I didn't think they had the capability to think for themselves much less organize in such a way. They're drawn to life. They tend to get a little more ornery whenever an offering is here, scampering about the shore and what have you. But ever since you've been here they've become aggressive, attacking whomever is near the Lake.”

“And you thought I was making them do that, what, intentionally?”

“Given what your orders were, it's not an unfair assumption.”

“Well I wasn’t! I’m not!”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said.

Beelzebub grunted.

“What...what would happen if they had gotten to me?”

“Well, they have a similar effect as when I touch you. Only they don't possess the ability to redirect it elsewhere.”

“So they would've...just drained the life out of me?”

“I'm left to assume so. I don't know what the, for lack of a better term, Remnant monster that came out intended to do. I've never seen anything like that before, have you, Beelz?”

They shook their head.

“Oh. And..you don't know what they are or why they're here.”

“No. I have theories. I think the Fates have use of them. For what, I can't imagine but sometimes I feel their presence coming and going.”

“Oh…”

“So. Why were you told to kill me?”

It was Crowley's turn to let out a heavy sigh. “The people of the town think that you're keeping spring and summer _away_ from us, that you're forcing us to have a winter. And that without you, we'd have eternal good weather.”

“Ah. Well that's not correct.”

“Yeah I know that _now_.”

“Couldn't we just tell them as much?”

“I thought of that but then you reminded me of Shadwell and how our people reacted, I don't think it'll be easy. I asked Anathema for help, to know what she thought.”

“Oh right,” Beezlebub said, “here.” They tossed a letter down. “She thinks you should tell us the truth. Oh and something about getting an audience with the council.”

“You read their correspondence Beelz?”

“You never said I couldn't read _her_ letters.”

The look Aziraphale gave Beelzebub sent shivers down Crowley's spine. He was glad he wasn't on the receiving end. To his surprise, Beelzebub actually cowered a little.

“I...she offered. I didn't ask. She made a point of noting that her letters wouldn't be sealed.”

“I suppose that's alright.” Aziraphale said. “If it was her choice.” Although it was another moment before the stony look on his face lifted. He turned to Crowley, “For our part, we know that you were sent to kill me. We didn't know how you were intending to go about it though. And we didn't know why.”

“Why didn't you say something when I first arrived?”

Aziraphale shrugged, “Curiosity.”

“And a surprising lack of self-preservation,” Beelzebub mumbled.

The god only shrugged again with a quiet hum. “Besides, you would have only denied it anyway or insisted that you weren’t going to kill me.”

“Which I'm doing now,” Crowley said. “What's the difference?”

“I know you now.”

Crowley couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief that _some_ aspect of his plan had worked. “So where do we go from here?”

“Well, I suppose we see if your Anathema can get a meeting with the town's council and convince them of their folly. It would be very nice if we could come to some sort of understanding and then you'll be able to return to your town at the end of summer. And the offerings to come after you will as well.”

“Right…” Crowley's shoulders sank. “Gotta go back.”

“You are mortal, after all.”

Crowley stared down at his tea. He wasn’t sure when he stopped thinking about what he might do after all of this. About going back home or going out in the world. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really considered it to begin with.

“I suppose that’s that,” Aziraphale said. “One last thing, Crowley I’m going to need you to promise not to go near the Lake again. We can’t risk a repeat of the other night.”

“Yeah I have no intention of going back there. It's freezing down there.”

“Is it really? I've never noticed.”

“The Remnants can’t leave the Lake can they? I mean, come up here?”

“No,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley let out a breath.

“Although…” the god said.

“Although what?”

“A lot of things have happened that should not have. For example, how did you find my rooms?”

“I...asked the Below to take me there.”

“From where? How many turns did you have to take? Any stairwells, what was the path it showed you?”

“Uh.” He cleared his throat. Shifted in his seat. “I..put my hand on the wall in my room and asked to see you and it opened up. It was just a short hall and then a door to you.”

At the silence around him Crowley risked a glance up. Beelzebub looked angry and...a little scared? Aziraphale looked thoughtful.

“What? What is it?”

“That’s…”

“A mortal should not be able to _do_ that,” Beelzebub said.

Beelzebub looked at Crowley like he was some sort of creature to be studied. Crowley avoided Aziraphale’s gaze; he didn’t want to risk seeing a similar look on his face.

“Well!” Aziraphale clapped his hands, “That's that then! No more Lake for you,” he pointed to Crowley. 

“Agreed.”

“As for you,” he pointed to Beelzebub, “we will make an attempt at trusting our guest, yes?”

“Hmp.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Yes,” Beelzebub muttered.

“Wonderful! Why don’t you go and relieve the twins, I’m sure they could use a break.”

Beelzebub was gone almost before Aziraphale finished speaking.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “I’m so sorry, I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“Hazard of the job, I suppose. Besides, if I had told you the truth of the Lake sooner this may have all been avoided. It’s just...past offerings have not reacted well to the news, I’m afraid.”

“Do you hate me?”

“Of course not! Curiosity gets the best of all of us. I was upset, yes, but, well...I don’t think I could ever stay mad at you for long.”

“So...I haven’t ruined everything?”

“Not in the slightest. In fact I…” He fiddled with his buttons, adjusted his crown. “I-I think I would like it very much if we could continue as we were. It’s just that we’re well into spring now and summer will be on us before long and…”

And they didn’t have much time left together, is what.

“I’d like that,” Crowley said. “I’d really, really like that...sunshine.”

Aziraphale let out a little ‘oh’ and wiggled in his seat, making no attempt to hide his grin.

*

For the next two weeks things went exceptionally well. The exchange had reached a point where they could go for almost two or three hours. The weather had gotten just nice enough to sit at the outside table for a short while. Even Beelzebub had taken to sitting in on the occasional meal. Aziraphale’s bruises healed within a day or so and all events of the night at the Lake were all but forgotten.

Until one night, while Crowley sat on his bed and sketched his latest fungi acquisition, he heard a faint tapping at his door.

“S’open,” he said, assuming it was Aziraphale not wanting to wake him.

But there was no response and the door didn’t open.

Crowley was about to shrug it off when there came another few taps. He put his papers aside and shoved off the bed. “Astraeus, why are you making me get out of bed when you could just make like a shadow and,” he swung open his door, “...sneak...in. Oh fuck.”

Sitting in the hall was a Remnant. It was a hand. Not just any hand but the first hand that had come out of the Lake that night. Crowley wasn’t sure how he knew it was _that_ hand versus any of the other equally white and stone-like limbs that had crawled out, but he did.

The hand just...stood? there. Perched up on its fingertips.

After a moment Crowley waved his arms, “Shoo! You’re not supposed to be up here!”

The hand flinched at the sudden movement and then shuffled back and forth in a bit of a pace before bouncing up and down.

“What do you mean you don’t know the way back?” Crowley whisper-hissed. “Just-just retrace your finger...steps?”

It laid flat, drumming it’s fingers against the floor.

“The what? ‘Large dark’? Oh! The shadow immortals. Yeah, Asteria and Astraeus. They’re probably on patrol because of _you_.”

It pressed even flatter against the ground, it’s finger tips arcing up just slightly.

“Oh don’t pout.”

The hand bounced up to its fingertips, its index finger pointing at Crowley.

He sighed and knelt down, “I can’t take you back, I’m not supposed to go back there. Y’know, on account of the lot of you trying to attack me? You hurt Aziraphale.”

The hand skittered some more.

“Well I can’t really accept an apology on his behalf.”

It started to say something in response but stopped mid-way, turning toward the end of the hall.

Just faintly Crowley could hear Aziraphale humming.

“Damn it.”

The Remnant went into a full panic-flurry. Skittering about, bouncing around, and finally throwing itself down flat in front of Crowley, trembling.

“ _Damn it._ Alright,” he pushed to his feet, stepping aside, “get in.”

It scurried past and Crowley gently shut the door. He pressed an ear to it, listening to see if Aziraphale was coming his way, but the god’s faint humming faded. Crowley turned around to see the Remnant rolling around in his blankets, feeling the different textures, poking his pencils.

“Oi!”

It ran to the footboard, perched on its fingertips, attention on Crowley.

He sighed.

“I’m going to get in so much trouble.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEE  
> I'm so glad everyone loves our little Remnant friend! I've been looking forward to writing it for SO LONG. <33

"Alright you," Crowley said as he pressed his hand against the wall of his room, "time to go back."

The Remnant skittered about the sheets before jumping to the floor and pressing flat against it.

"No. No no, no pouting. You're not supposed to be up here. What are you even _doing_ up here?"

It pointed at him.

"Right. You came to see me. ...Why?"

It drummed its fingers from pinky to pointer and then pointer to pinky before pointing at him once again.

"To talk? About what?"

It tilted on to its side, balancing on it's pinky. A shrug. Back on its fingertips, the Remnant scurried toward Crowley who immediately jumped back. At that, it stopped short, and lowered to the ground, not quite touching it.

"Hey, hey hey, I'm sorry." Crowley said as he knelt down. "It's just...Aziraphale said that you, and the others like you, want to hurt me."

It launched to its fingertips, shaking its pointer back and forth.

"Ok. Then, what _do_ you want?"

Slowly, it lowered its finger and inched forward. It crept around Crowley, like a spider, until it was near his foot. Then it rested two fingers on his shoe and...laid down.

Crowley watched it for a moment.

"Aziraphale said...that you have the same passive ability. That if you touch me you'll drain me. But if he was wrong about you wanting to hurt me, was he wrong about that too?"

The Remnant looked up and shrugged.

"Only one way to find out. Can I?"

It nodded.

Gently, Crowley put a fingertip to the back of the Remnant. He held his breath, waiting for something to happen, some clear sign of ‘bad’, but there was nothing. Maybe a slight warmth but he couldn't tell if that was his imagination. He tried to remember what it had felt like when he did the first exchange, tiring for sure. Now he didn't feel anything besides the warmth of Aziraphale's hand.

The Remnant flipped over and Crowley laughed, he knew a creature asking for tummy rubs when he saw one.

Talking to the Remnant was slow going. It had a limited vocabulary and seemed to be making up its gestures as it went. Crowley wondered if it had ever actually tried to communicate with Aziraphale before. It was slow, but not impossible. It helped that it seemed able to understand Crowley just fine, so he was able to guess and keep guessing until he got it right.

According to the Remnant, which he'd named Little One in his head, it and the other occupants of the Lake had no intention of hurting him, they just wanted to be near him. It said he felt warm and bright. He asked about the Remnant monster and Little One admitted that that one _did_ want to hurt him but that monsters like that weren't common.

Eventually, though, Crowley did push to his feet, "Okay you, you've gotta go back. If nothing else because I don't know what Aziraphale or, Fates forbid, Beelzebub, will do to you if either of them find you in here."

Little One wasn't happy about it but it agreed.

The wall opened easily for them, Crowley thinking clearly about where, exactly, he wanted to be let out. The doorway opened to the start of the bog bridge.

Little One ran in circles about that, clearly unhappy.

"What? It's water. You _live in a Lake_."

It pouted.

"Ugh, I'm going to develop an immunity to that pretty soon," Crowley said even as he leaned forward and held out his hand.

Little One jumped up into it and ran up his harm to sit on his shoulder.

"I'm the one that's going to wind up with wet shoes and feet you know."

It squeezed his shoulder.

"I don't want your pity!"

Crowley tiptoed across the bridge, but it was no use, the frigid water soaked through his shoes almost instantly. Once he was on the other side, he stopped just outside of the water and on the edge of the black sand.

"This is as far as I go."

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Because I promised Aziraphale I wouldn't go back to the Lake. So, I'm not even going to touch the sand. You go on," he crouched down, "it's just on the other side of this corridor, you shouldn't get lost."

Little One hopped from his shoulder to his knee to the ground. It pointed at him, and made some sort of circle gesture, pulling it's pointer in toward itself.

It took Crowley a moment and then the meaning came to him. "Yeah I can stay until you're in the Lake." He tilted his head, looking down the hall. "I can't really see that far out so you better splash so I know you got in alright."

It nodded.

"Alright now go on! I don't know who's on patrol, be careful."

The Remnant ran off. Crowley watched it disappear down into the darkness. He hoped whoever was on patrol was far enough away. Hard not to notice a stark white hand against black sand. Then he heard it.

A splash.

"Good job, you."

*

"See what happens when everyone just _talks_?" Anathema said, a very smug grin on her face.

Beelzebub just grunted. "I wasn't the one keeping secrets from a god, that was Crowley."

"Yeah yeah, but now everything is in the open finally, right?"

"That's what he says..."

She rolled her eyes and sipped whatever sweet drink was in her cup.

The two sat on the front stoop of her porch, Beelzebub having just delivered Crowley's latest letter. Anathema read it and then passed it to them for them to read, but it was just Crowley recounting what had happened and that they had all spoken.

"So tell me more about this Lake."

"No."

"You are terrible company, do you know that?"

They shrugged.

"Well I don't have much to say to Crowley. There hasn't been any news with the council, I'm still waiting to even get in front of them. No point in putting that in a letter when you can just tell him as much."

"Fine."

She sipped her drink. "Do you think I could visit him?"

"No."

"Well it's not up to you is it? It's up to the God Below I bet."

Beelzebub sighed. "I don’t think it's a good idea right now. We've only just gotten the Lake to calm down. Bringing another mortal so close could only stir things up again. It's dangerous."

"Okay," she said.

"Wh...that's it? Just 'okay'?"

"I'm not going to argue with you about it. I trust your judgement."

"Oh."

"Not everything has to be an argument or-or difficult Beelzebub. And besides, you're trusting me to handle everything with the Council, you trust that I know what's best up here, so I can trust that you know what's best down there."

"Oh." Beelzebub couldn't recall the last time someone said they trusted them. He knew Aziraphale trusted them. They were there to assist him. It was their job. And they liked Aziraphale. Knowing Anathema trusted them to make a judgment in her best interest...they weren't sure what to do with that.

"Will you tell me though? If things change and I can come around?"

"Uh. Yeah. Sure. I'll-I'll keep it in mind. Mention it to Aziraphale if things...change."

"Thank you." She looked out at the land before them, the budding trees and flowers. Then she leaned to the side, bumping her shoulder against theirs. "I knew you had a nice side to you."

"I'm not nice!"

"Uh huh."

Beelzebub pushed to their feet. "I'm an immortal!"

"And they're mutually exclusive things?"

"Wh..no. I just. I'm not nice!"

"Okay. Noted. You're very mean."

They scoffed. "I'm going."

"Okay."

She stared at them. They scowled back. She smiled. It was clear she was going to make them ask.

"Can I...have the sweet-smelling tea you promised?"

"Mhmmm." She pushed to her feet, smirking as she disappeared inside.

"It's not for me!"

"Of course not."

"I don't like sweet things."

"I know."

"Good."

She came back out, holding a small pouch. "It's for Aziraphale. Because you know he likes sweet-smelling things. And he doesn't have this one."

"Exactly."

"And because you're nice."

"Ugh!" They snatched the bag out of her hand and disappeared into the ground.

*

The day after the Remnant's visit, Crowley was on edge all through breakfast and tea as well as the exchange. He was so nervous that Aziraphale insisted they end the exchange early so he could get some fresh air as he was clearly antsy. He asked about the Lake, hoping it sounded like innocent curiosity. According to Aziraphale it was calm. Not a ripple. Crowley was relieved to hear it. Then wondered if Aziraphale would keep it from him if the Lake was unsettled, so as not to worry him, and then he felt guilty that _he_ was keeping something from Aziraphale...so as not to worry him.

When the day came and went and there was no mention of escapee Remnants, Crowley pushed it out of his head.

Until two days later when he was sitting in the tub and heard a faint tapping at his door.

He dragged himself out of the deliciously hot water and wrapped several towels around him. He cracked the door open and sure enough, on the other side, up on it's finger tips and bouncing, was Little One. 

"What are you doing here?"

It tapped its fingers impatiently.

"Wh--how is that obvious?"

More taps.

"Oh just get in!"

It scurried in, hopping up onto the bed.

"You can't just keep visiting me here. If Aziraphale or Beelzebub or the _twins_ if _anyone_ sees you, I...I don't know what will happen."

It pouted.

"We can hang out for a little bit and then you've got to go back okay?"

A slow and resigned nod of its pointer finger.

It turned out Little One had been speaking the praises of Crowley's kindness and warmth, and many of the other Remnants wanted in on it. It claimed to talk them out of coming with, but only just barely.

"I don't know what you want me to do, I promised not to go back to the Lake."

It paced across the bed.

"What if...what if I told them a story?"

It perked up.

"Yeah, used to tell stories to The Them all the time when they were little-er. I could tell _you_ a line or two and you take it back to them. But only if they promise not to go wandering around outside of the Lake. And _you_ have to promise to not keep coming to my door. I can get to the bog on my own without being spotted. We can meet in the hall, the doorway on the bog side, I'll sit with you, tell you a bit of the story, and you can take it back to them."

Little One seemed to consider that. It didn't like that it would be such a short visit and insisted Crowley come every night.

Crowley sighed. "I don't know if I can promise that but I will try. If I don't show though, you can't come looking for me, I'll come to you as soon as I can. But it may not be until the following night."

It jumped up and fell flat on the blankets, repeating the motion a few times.

"Oi, no tantrums! I'm doing the best I can here."

It stood up and turned around, facing away from Crowley.

Crowley knelt beside the bed, resting his arms on it. "Don't be like that. I'm trying to keep you safe, y'know."

After a few tense moments Little One relaxed a bit and turned around.

"Yeah?" asked Crowley softly.

It crept up to him, placing a cautious finger on his knuckles.

"I forgive you. Let me get dressed and I’ll take you back."

Little One burrowed into the blankets and if Crowley didn’t know better he’d think it was soaking up his warmth and scent..

"How do you all feel about fairy tales?"

It went on like that for another week or so. Every day Crowley would get up, have breakfast with Aziraphale, do the exchange, explore the Below, take notes on the flora and fungi, have tea with Aziraphale, sit outside with the twins, and at night he would excuse himself, disappear into his room and then journey to the bog bridge.

He reached the conclusion that there was another entrance Aziraphale and Beelzebub frequented because he never heard footsteps or found himself scrambling to hide before he was seen. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of one of them patrolling the edge of the Lake, but they never looked in his direction.

Little One kept its end of the bargain and didn't come back to Crowley's rooms. Even when one day an exchange went for longer than planned because they both had gotten caught up in their books and just _forgot_ they were holding hands, and so Crowley had slept the night through. Little One didn't come, although when Crowley did come the next night, it made it very clear that it was very disappointed that Crowley hadn't shown.

"Hey," Crowley said the night after that. He sat down in the doorway, just on the edge of the black sand and took off his boots and socks. He wrapped his damp feet in a blanket he brought with and set the wet articles aside to dry as best they could.

Little One watched this happen with great interest. Normally Crowley sat down, asked a bit how everyone was doing, and told a few lines of the story. He would watch as Little One scampered off and waited for the splash before leaving again.

This was new.

"I thought," he said. "That I might sit with you for a bit. To make up for the other night. I can tell you, just you, a very short story. Would you like that?”

Little One jumped into his lap.

“Great,” Crowley said with a laugh. “Now it’s up to you if you want to share this one with everyone else.”

It nodded and then set about getting comfortable. It was surprisingly a lot like a cat in that regard, going this way and that, moving around, shifting. Crowley sat and waited. His feet weren’t too cold now that the wet shoes were off. He didn’t think he could sit with them on and wet for long, not without getting terribly sick. He tucked the blanket some more around his feet.

When Little One had finally settled, Crowley leaned back against the stone and took a deep breath.

“It was a bright and sunny day, _not_ a dark and stormy night, and the Queen of Fairies had…”

Crowley soon settled in, his feet warm for once, his fingertips gently running along Little One.

He barely noticed his eyes drooping and was fast asleep before he could think better of it.

*

Aziraphale hummed as he walked. He liked the way it echoed off the stone walls. He wondered if Crowley knew how to play an instrument. He certainly had no idea. If he'd known how when he was mortal he'd forgotten it along with everything else about his past. And there wasn't exactly anyone around to teach him.

Still, he hummed through the halls. He passed Beelzebub in their rooms, frowning down at their latest embroidery. Astraeus was off doing things above, causing trouble no doubt.

As Aziraphale descended the steps toward the bridge he felt a slight shift in the air. He'd been noticing it elsewhere through the Below but couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or where it was coming form. It didn't feel _bad_ , just...different. Sometimes there was a hint of warmth or fresh green in the air. The sort of things he only ever caught a hint of, usually, when he was sitting at the outside table with Crowley.

How very odd.

He reached the landing and headed for the bridge. He had taken two steps when the tune he'd been humming came to an abrupt halt in his throat. The bit of miracle he'd been doing to walk over the water so as not to get his feet wet dissipated in the back of his mind, and he stumbled on the next step, feet getting soaked.

Aziraphale stood up right and took a deep breath, staring at the thing that had thrown him so thoroughly.

It was a flower.

A white flower seemingly floating in the air. But, no, upon closer inspection he could tell it was attached to a bit of greenery that disappeared below the water. And the water, he realized, was surprisingly clear. Nothing like it's usual murky state. Aziraphale fully looked around the bog and realized there were a _lot_ of flowers. Ones he'd never seen before, certainly not in the Below. Much of the tall grass that was usually brown and brittle was now green and vibrant. Fresh sprouts were sticking up defiantly from the old and dead tree stumps.

It...didn't make sense. How was it possible?

The Lake.

Aziraphale hurried across the bridge, jerking to a violent stop at his second surprise for the night.

Curled up on the floor, at the entrance of the hall that led to the Lake, was Crowley, fast asleep. He was half covered in a blanket, his head bowed.

Aziraphale tutted. His neck was going to hurt when he woke.

He supposed he ought to be upset with Crowley, for coming so near the Lake again. But he wasn't _at_ the Lake, technically, and for some reason Aziraphale just felt nothing but a little charmed. He wondered why Crowley was there at all, of course, and supposed it boiled down to curiosity.

He bent over to scoop Crowley up and was treated to one final shock of the evening. Only this one made his entire body tense in fear.

Nestled in the folds of Crowley's skirt was a Remnant. Aziraphale's eyes snapped to Crowley, taking in his bowed head once again in a new light. Was he injured? Had the Remnant drained him?

The Remnant shifted, took note of Aziraphale and froze.

Before either one of them could do anything, Crowley muttered and leaned his head back against the wall. He also, to Aziraphale’s surprise, scooped up the Remnant and held it close.

Luckily the Remnant had the good sense to scurry free and dash down the hall, back toward the Lake. Aziraphale heard a faint splash but decided to deal with that later. First, he snapped Crowley's shoes back to his room, and then he scooped up the man himself.

After depositing Crowley safely to his bed, Aziraphale returned to the Lake, bringing Beelzebub with him. Asteria claimed to have seen nothing. The Lake was calm as ever, just the occasional splash. It was then that the three of them realized it was only ever the _one_ splash. Every night the singular sound broke the quiet of the cavern and then it was silent once more. Aziraphale explained to the two what he’d seen but none of them could come up with an explanation that made sense. And the Remnant in question wasn't likely to make an appearance any time soon.

So, he waited.

The next morning he knocked on Crowley's door as he always did and Crowley invited him in as he always did. Aziraphale stood in the doorway patiently while Crowley layered himself in bundle after bundle.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

"Hmm? Sure, why?"

"I just. Well I thought as we got further into spring and, almost near summer now, you wouldn't be quite so cold so often."

Crowley just shrugged. "I've gotten used to it for the most part."

Aziraphale watched him put on a second cloak.

"We have stories above about how the Below is a frozen wasteland, if I'd known I wasn't going to die down here I might have been more prepared. I'll get used to it eventually."

The god tried not to point out that before long summer would be over, and it would be time for him to go back. Instead, he walked with Crowley to the study.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, yeah. Uh. Yeah," Crowley frowned. "Neck hurts a little bit, I guess."

Well, he supposed that wasn't a lie. He hoped Crowley would tell him about his little excursion but if the recent routine splashes were anything to go by, this had been happening for some time and he hadn't said anything. That hurt a bit.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale started when they were settled at the table. "Well...I do hope I've made it clear that you can talk to me about anything, tell me anything."

He stopped with a piece of toast half raised to his lips.

"I won't be upset, you know."

For a moment the two just stared at one another. Finally Crowley put his food down and sat back. "I fell asleep at the bog bridge, didn't I?"

"You did, my dear."

"Yeah, I couldn’t remember getting back to my rooms when I woke up this morning."

"I found you and I carried you back."

"Right. Sorry. Look I didn't go to the Lake. I kept my promise."

"You did, although just barely. That's still rather _close_ , isn't it? Why were you there?"

He shifted in his seat. "Uh. You, you said you found _me_ uh, asleep? There?"

Aziraphale didn't miss his emphasis on 'me'. He considered giving him a roundabout answer, asking why, but then they'd never stop going in circles like this. "There was a Remnant with you," he said. "It was in your lap, Crowley."

"Right. Yeah. Uh."

"What's going on? Did it hurt you?"

"No! No not at all. I know you said if they touched me it'd be the same as the exchange but, it's not. I don't feel anything."

"Hmm."

"There’s something else too..."

"Go on."

"It might be better if I just showed you."

"Showed me?"

Crowley put his napkin aside and pushed up from the table, "Yeah. Come on."

Aziraphale stood and followed Crowley out into the hall. He walked up to one of the walls and put his hand against it. Aziraphale tried not to gasp as the wall peeled away from him, revealing the bog bridge. When had he gotten so comfortable with the Below? So powerful?

Crowley turned to him, "Now you've gotta promise not to panic, okay?"

He raised a brow at that.

"Please?"

"I promise. I have, and still do trust you."

Crowley took a deep breath and led the way.

Aziraphale watched as he casually brushed his fingers against the grass and the flowers. Whispering quiet 'hellos' and 'well look at yous'. He smiled at the tall grass as though he were having a wonderful conversation with it even as he folded his arms against his chest at the chill.

The walk through the hall was quiet. Asteria caught sight of Crowley just as he came through the other side and lumbered toward him.

"He's with me, my dear," Aziraphale said and she stopped in her tracks.

She waved one of her shadow arms in the direction of the Lake.

“Crowley has said there’s something he wants to show me. Although I do think you should stay in that form, just in case.”

Crowley glanced from Aziraphale to Asteria.

"It...it might be better if she didn't."

"What?"

"They might feel more comfortable."

"More comfortable? Crowley--"

"Please," he darted forward, taking Aziraphale's hand in his. "Please?"

Aziraphale nodded at Asteria and she quickly shimmered down into her crow form.

"Thank you." Crowley turned to the Lake, "It's okay."

At first, nothing happened. Then a single finger broke the surface, as if peeking out. It must have been the Remnant from last night. Aziraphale thought he almost recognized that hand. He was certain he must have nudged it off the sand before.

"Hey you!" Crowley said, squatting down at the Lake's edge. "It's okay, come on little one."

Slowly, hesitantly, it crept out of the water and toward Crowley.

"Yeah, come on."

Aziraphale watched as Crowley, as this _mortal_ , held out his hand and the Remnant jumped onto it. It scampered up his arm and sat on Crowley's shoulder. He watched as Crowley, smiling like he was looking at his best friend in the world, ran a finger down the back of the Remnant.

"Alright," Crowley said. "Let's show them how well behaved you all are.”

It was all Aziraphale could do to watch as tentatively more and more Remnants poked out of the water. Asteria squawked and a few retreated but most kept coming. There were more hands, a few arms, a lower body walked out before sitting down on the sand, crossing its feet at the ankles.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale and held out his hand, "Come on."

"What next?"

"Well I just...sit with them. They like it. Little One here says it's like being near something warm and comfortable." He shrugged, "I guess I'm like a sunbeam to them."

"You just...sit with them?"

"Mhm." And to illustrate his point, Crowley sat on the sand beside the lower body and then laid down, resting his head in its lap. Half a dozen hands and arms ran over to play with his hair. "Well it’s mostly been with Little One. I haven't gone further than the other side of that hall. And not many Remnants are small enough to sneak out and not get caught. Just a couple of other hands and arms.” He jerked his thumb up and over his head, pointing to the ones braiding his hair, “These guys mostly. I've been telling them a story. I mean I've been telling Little One pieces and it’s been relaying it back to them in the Lake.”

Aziraphale looked out over the Lake as more Remnants came out. They didn't all go to Crowley, some were content to just sit on the sand. Some were...well it looked like they were _playing_. Splashing in the water.

"I see."

“It’s perfectly safe, sunshine.”

“Oh? Because I distinctly remember a rather large monster made up of these trying to attack you.”

Several of the Remnants seemed to shrink in at that, pulling away from Crowley.

Crowley just let out a dramatic sigh, “That was _different_. It was...they want to be near me, yeah? You said yourself they’ve been acting up since I got here. After a while I’ve being denied that opportunity, that want shifted into something ugly. Something resentful. Little One has said it’s not what the rest of them are like, though.”

Asteria ruffled her feathers. Aziraphale quite thought he agreed.

When he didn’t say anything Crowley sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. "They just want company, Aziraphale. Wouldn't you?"

He softened a bit at that, how could he not?

And so, he sat down on the sand beside Crowley. Only the very brave Remnant hands came and poked at him before scurrying off again. It was...surprisingly adorable.

“Alright,” Crowley said as he laid back down. “Now, where did we last leave off?”

Many, many more Remnants broke the surface of the water. Some ventured onto the side while others seemed content to float nearby. One of the hands was tapping out frantically on Crowley’s stomach, making some complicated movements and gestures that Crowley seemed to understand.

“Riiiiight,” he said after a moment, “the Fairy Queen had just made a really bad deal with the Shadow Knight to save her love. Now, what the Fairy Queen didn’t know was…”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley spun some fantastic tale. He watched as more and more Remnants came to sit by him. He watched as Crowley seemed to smile bigger and brighter. As his hair shimmered and his eyes sparkled. He sat up before long, leaning forward to whisper at the scary parts and project the dramatic, action-packed scenes, his voice echoing off the cavern walls.

More than anything, Aziraphale watched, stared wide-eyed, as dozens and dozens of teeny tiny blades of grass poked up through the sand around Crowley.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight content warning for drug use. (Crowley eats a mushroom and it has EFFECTS.)  
> Also, I haven't updated the chapter count but I don't think we're going to hit 20. I'll update it as soon as I know for sure but believe it or not we're close to end folks.

Crowley lost track of time. The days came and went in a lovely pattern of meals with Aziraphale, sitting outside, picnicking by the Lake. The Remnants had gotten more comfortable moving about with Aziraphale around, and now explored freely. Crowley explained to them, (as it turned out Aziraphale simply couldn't understand them), that they were not allowed to leave the area of the Lake. They could go as far as the black sand went and that was all. The Remnants, ever eager to please Crowley, did exactly as they were told.

The Below itself started to look different. There were more brightly colored fungi growing in corners, along the floor. More moss. The bog bridge was a bright green, leaves and flowers everywhere. Crowley was almost certain he'd caught a glimpse of some kind of fish in the water. Aziraphale had started to insist that was simply impossible but found he didn't have much evidence to support that argument.

They sat on the sand one afternoon, bright sunlight spilling in from an opening in the cave above. Crowley laid back on a blanket, Aziraphale sitting beside him. The god supported a book in his lap in one hand while he held Crowley's hand with the other. Crowley squinted up at the opening in the cave. Little One sat curled in a gentle fist on Crowley's chest. It reminded him of a cat.

"Was that always there?"

Aziraphale peered up as well, "I think so. It's hard to tell lately."

"Hmm."

Crowley sat up, gently cradling Little One with his free hand as it slid off his chest. He set it down on his lap and watched it get comfortable again. He looked up, over the Lake. There were easily a hundred various Remnants about the shore. Most were basking near Crowley or in the actual sunlight, but many others were tumbling and wrestling in the sand. There was a lower body that often went for walks around the lake with a few hands sitting on its top. A few dozen of the hand Remnants had made a game of standing one on top of the other, to see how tall a tower they could make before falling. The record was eighteen.

Crowley wasn’t sure how he knew that. He just looked over and...he knew. Just as he knew there was a torso building a sand castle far on the other side of the shore, where he couldn’t see. He knew a pair of legs was doing a complicated dance much to the delight of several of the other Remnants. He knew there were several feet walking along the bottom of the bog, pushing the limitations of their freedom.

He stopped petting Little One and leaned over to bury his fingers into the sand. “I said only as far as the black sand. Is there sand down there?”

“What?” asked Aziraphale.

Without responding Crowley lifted his hand, dusting bits of sand off and watched as half a dozen feet came bouncing down the hall and into the cavern. He didn’t know how he knew they would hear him, but they did. They came up to him and all fell onto their sides, toes wiggling.

“Yes, yes, you’re so very sorry. How about we don’t try breaking the rules and we won’t have to be sorry?”

They stilled.

Crowley sighed, “I’m not mad. Had you asked first I would have offered to go with you. Ask next time?”

The feet wiggled their toes and then bounced upright.

“Go on then.”

He watched them run off. He could feel Aziraphale staring at him.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes?"

"Why does the Below react to me the way it does?"

He heard the god set his book aside. He didn't let go of Crowley's hand though. "I don't know," he said after a moment.

"But it's never done this before?"

"Not while I've been the god below, no."

He turned to him finally, "How long  _ have _ you been?"

"Oh, goodness. I can't really remember. It's been some time though."

"You don't remember when it happened?"

"No. I don't remember anything about my mortal life before either."

Crowley blinked, "You were mortal?"

"Mhm."

"I thought...I don't know you were just, always immortal and being the god below was just, a...career...change?"

Aziraphale smiled at that. "I'm certain it's happened that way. There's all kinds of immortals. There's the kind that have always been. Ancient, ever present things. There are the kind like me and the twins, who were once mortal. Or like Beelzebub, who were...created in a different sort of way. I hesitate to say ‘born’. One moment they aren't and the next they are. And then there's all the various gods. It's all a bit messy, truth be told. One way to tell the difference between some is that immortals that were once mortal have the same blue eyes."

"Oh." Crowley thought of Beelzebub's red eyes. "Right. Who...controls all of that? Who decides which mortals become immortal? Who...I don't know, snaps new immortals and gods into existence?"

"I have no idea," Aziraphale said, eyes wide and a little amused. "Although I have read many stories and histories and lore told across various cultures and civilizations where common themes tend to be acts of great sacrifice, or simply asking a god to grant you such gifts and having to prove worth through various trials, things like that. Sometimes it's as simple as waking up one day and discovering you're immortal and you aren't sure who you have to thank or blame for it. Gods, on the whole, are fickle things and swayed by incredible flights of fancy."

"But not you," Crowley said.

"Oh I've had my moments of temptation, I'm sure. I do think being stuck in one location with limited opportunities to interact with other beings has an effect."

Crowley looked back down at Little One, "Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to...sorry."

"Not at all! I'm only stating the facts as they are." After a moment Aziraphale squeezed his hand, "Crowley?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there something on your mind? What's got you thinking about all this?"

He ran a gentle finger over Little One, who flipped over to expose its palm. He knew they were well into summer now. He only had a couple of months, at most, left in the Below. What would happen to all the Remnants when he left, with no one to communicate their wants and needs? And poor Aziraphale, left to sit the fall and winter through alone, reading his books and watching what fraction of the world he could see from the entrance to the Below. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay and keep doing the exchange for as long as his stupid mortal life would let him. No one else  _ wants _ to be the sacrifice, so why bother with it? He could just...stay.

“Crowley?”

“No reason,” he said with a shrug. He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t stand for it. It wouldn’t be a fair ask, anyway. To ask him to let Crowley stay, knowing he’d age and get old and eventually be gone. He sighed.

“Well. I think that’s perhaps enough for today.”

“What?” He looked down at his now empty hand. “I’m fine, honest.”

“It’s been six hours, my dear.”

“Has it really? I don’t feel tired at all. I’m fine.”

“Be that as it may, perhaps you ought to stretch your legs? Get some food?”

“I guess…”

Aziraphale pushed to his feet and pulled on his glove before holding out his hand to Crowley. “Come on.”

Crowley gently nudged Little One out of his lap and took Aziraphale’s hand. “Can we try something?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I thought maybe...they wouldn’t have to go back in the Lake?”

“Even though you won’t be here on the shore? I don’t know that that’s wise…”

“We could ask the twins to patrol still, make sure they’re behaving. I just feel bad. Life on the bottom of the Lake can’t be all that exciting.”

“But...they’re not alive.”

Crowley looked down at Little One, who was perched by his boot, looking up at him. “They are to me.”

“How...strong is your connection to them? To the Lake?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know. We’d have to test it.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed as he looked out around the cavern. “I’d hate to have to, well,  _ change _ , if containment is necessary.”

Crowley didn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s eyes darted to him and then away again. “I meant what I said, Aziraphale, I’m not afraid of you, no matter what form you take. And I’m not, turned away. Or-or I don’t know--”

“Disgusted?”

“No! Never.”

He nodded, just the once. “Alright. Let’s try it. But I want both the twins and Beelzebub down here.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. That’s, yeah perfect. You get them, I’ll just.” He bent over and held out his hands. When Little One jumped into them he lifted it up to his face. “Now listen up, you. Aziraphale and I are going upstairs.” It bounced around. “N-No no, you can’t come with. Well because it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else, that’s why. And besides,” he lowered his voice, “I need you to make sure everyone behaves. I’m leaving you in charge, alright? Can you do that for me?”

Little One looked out over the Lake before nodding.

Crowley grinned down at it, "There's a dear." Then, without even thinking about it, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on its knuckles. "Go on you." The Twins appeared at different ends of the Lake in their full shadow form. Crowley stood on his tiptoes to wave.

When he turned it was to see Aziraphale staring at him with a look he couldn't quite parse. He looked incredibly fond but also a bit concerned. A bit sad.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Beelzebub came up through the ground right beside him.

"What's with the crowd?" they asked. "Why's everyone down here?"

"We're going to try something different today, my friend. Crowley and I are going to go upstairs and have a bit of tea, the Remnants are allowed to continue wandering about. So I’d like to have you as well as the twins in the immediate area, just in case."

Beelzebub made a face, "What? Wh-ah!" They flinched as a hand scampered between their legs and over their feet. "Ugh. Why?"

"Why not?" Crowley asked.

"Because they're, ugh."

"'Ugh' or not," Crowley said, "they deserve a bit of freedom and I see no reason why we can't give them that." He could tell his tone had gained an edge to it and he reminded himself he was talking to two immortals, one of which was a god. He cleared his throat, "And besides, they--" Crowley reached an arm out to the side and snapped his fingers. He turned to look where the dozen hands had piled up on the single leg and was burying it in the sand. "Hey! Stop it, you  _ know _ it doesn't like that!" The hands ran off, jumping into the Lake with a splash before resurfacing to cause mayhem elsewhere. The leg got up and bent its knee in what could be considered a curtsy before hopping off elsewhere. Crowley turned back to the immortals, "Besides," he said with a shrug, "they listen to me."

Beelzebub and Aziraphale exchanged a look.

"Quite right," Aziraphale said. "Ah, Beelz, depending on how this goes I think you and I should talk later. About that request you made?"

"Oh," Beelzebub said and if Crowley didn't know better he'd think they were blushing.

But he did know better.

"Yeah," they said. "Sure. It's. It's not. It's. Okay."

It was Crowley and Aziraphale's turn to exchange a look.

"Right then," Aziraphale said. "Off we go. Don't think I haven't noticed you're still shivering."

To be fair, Crowley  _ had _ stopped noticing.

As they walked across the bog bridge, the water sliding aside to clear a path with each step so that Crowley's feet didn't get wet, he asked about Beelzebub's request.

"Oh, I don't want to say just yet, in case this doesn't quite work. I will tell you though, don't worry."

"Alright. Thank you, by the way, for," he gestured to the water not soaking into his feet. "I noticed it a while ago but now you've got it to do it even when I come down alone."

"Crowley...I'm not doing anything."

He stopped walking. He looked down. Where Aziraphale stood on top of the water, Crowley stood on the bridge itself, the water very politely avoiding touching him.

“Oh…”

“My dear, I hope you realize I’m not doing  _ any _ of this.”

He looked up and Aziraphale gestured around them. Where there was tall green grass, flowers, leaves and sprouts pushing out of what used to be dead tree stumps. The water was clear. The sunlight shined down. Crowley even thought he saw what looked like a dragonfly hovering about, but that couldn’t be right.

“Why is this happening?”

“I don’t know, my dear. I’ll admit I’m concerned. I’m concerned the Below is feeding off of you, draining you like the exchange might.”

Crowley shook his head. Feeling guilty for keeping the water at bay for so long, he wandered off the bridge and to the stairwell. “I don’t feel any different, though. I don’t even feel tired like I did after the first few. Sometimes...sometimes I even feel  _ more _ awake and alive and...happy.”

“And yet you’re always shivering. I don't feel cold down here. But you seem to be getting worse. How many layers are you wearing right now?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said before, s’not my fault the Below is some frozen--”

“But it’s not, Crowley. That’s only the stories you and your townspeople told. There’s no,” he gestured around them, “there’s no ice down here. No snow. I think it’s clear the Below shifts according to your perceptions. And so...”

Crowley thought about that. Did that explain the flowers and the greenery? The life? The way the Remnants reacted to him? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t even known they existed before coming to the Below, before stumbling upon the Lake. He thought about what he would be doing if he were topside. He’d be barefoot. He loved feeling the earth beneath his feet. He felt more connected to it, at peace. He wondered if the same would apply to the Below.

He sat down on the steps and set about taking off his shoes.

“Crowley?”

“Have an idea.”

With his shoes and socks and other pair of socks off, he gently pressed his feet against the stone floor. It was cold. Freezing, really, and he recoiled at the touch. Then he tried again. He thought about the warmth of his bath, the warmth of that one room that appeared for him, with the small pond. He thought about the sunlight above. Steadily, the stone below his feet grew warmer. He let out a sigh.

“Did it work?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley grinned stripping off one cloak and then another, all of his excess layers. He felt so much lighter, able to breathe fully. Once he was down to the simple dress he’d started the day with, he gathered up all of his clothes, prepared to carry them back when Aziraphale snapped his fingers, sending them all, presumably, back to his rooms.

“Right. Now  _ that _ is a trick I’d like to learn.”

“Benefits of being a god, I’m afraid. Shall we?”

Now that his feet were bare, Crowley could feel the pull of the Below, of the Lake, much stronger. It was like a thread around his ankles, a constant connection that he couldn’t explain. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t weigh him down, it was just there. And along that thread he could feel the vibrations of the Remnants as they ran around and played. He could feel the ebb and flow of the Lake. He could even feel where Beelzebub was, where the twins stood, the presence of Aziraphale beside him.

The strength of the connection didn’t get any weaker as they went upstairs. Nor did the feel of the thread grow more taut. It simply existed, ever present. Crowley could pinpoint Little One’s exact location, playing the tower game with some other hands, and he wondered if he would eventually be able to do that with  _ all _ of the Remnants.

He wondered if he’d be around long enough to find out.

*

Aziraphale considered, not for the first time, seeking out a meeting with the Fates to discuss Crowley. He was getting more and more powerful in the Below every day. Aziraphale watched the Below flourish with just a thought from Crowley, how the Remnants listened to him, how he was able to open doorways to go exactly where he wanted to. No mortal had ever been able to do that before.

Aziraphale watched, one day, as Crowley stopped mid-conversation and suddenly looked very upset. They were sitting at the outside table, Aziraphale safely in the shadow of the entrance, while Crowley sat on the table itself, feet swinging as he ate a piece of fruit. He watched Crowley set his fruit aside and hop off the table, kneeling on the ground. He put a hand to it, pushing his fingers in the dirt.

“Oi,” he said, “I  _ know _ you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”

It was clear he wasn’t talking to Aziraphale, but the god had no idea who he  _ was _ talking to. He didn’t have the connection Crowley did to the Lake, to the Remnants.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. If I catch you doing that again  _ I’m _ going to sit on you, see how you like it.”

He pushed to his feet, dusting his hand off. “Sorry. Maribeth has gotten into this awful habit of sitting on the smaller ones. It was crushing poor Else.”

“Have you...named all of them?”

“Not yet, no. It’s a joint effort. I have to find names that they like, of course.”

“But you can tell them all apart?”

He took a bite of his pear, “Yeah? Can’t you?”

“No, my dear. They all...look like, hands and legs and feet.”

“Oh.” He sounded so sad.

Aziraphale considered seeking out the Fates and dismissed it almost as quickly. While it was true he didn’t know how or why Crowley was able to do the things that he was, he wasn’t harming anything, and he didn’t seem to be in danger himself. It was probably best to not bring the Fates’ attention to him lest they get ideas of their own.

A few days later Aziraphale told Beelzebub it would be alright for Crowley to meet with his friend. They decided on meeting at the altar, so as not to bring her too close to the Below. Aziraphale was hesitant to let Crowley go far  _ away _ from the Below, unsure how the Remnants would behave without his presence but, well...it wouldn't be long before he would have to leave permanently, so this would serve as a good test run.

He wandered the Below, seeking out Crowley to give him the good news, and was unsurprised to find him in the first room they'd discovered together. The little pond sparkling as ever, an array of things growing out and on the surface of the rock face. He was, however, surprised to find Crowley  _ climbing  _ said wall.

"My dear, whatever are you  _ doing _ ?"

"Hmm? Oh, foraging."

"I don't think it's safe for you to be up there, you might fall."

He shifted over a bit, inching closer to a cluster of mushrooms which were presumably his goal. "You'll catch me."

"Yes, but I've only just got here! What if you fell before I arrived?"

He shrugged, a surprisingly impressive movement given he was clutching to a small bit of the rock by his very fingertips while his other hand stretched out for the desired fungi.

"Crowley!"

"I don't think yelling at me is going to improve my concentration or my odds, sunshine."

Aziraphale huffed. He watched, nerves frayed, as Crowley swiped several of the little things, stuffed them into a pocket in his pants, and slowly made his way down. He hopped to the ground with a little flourish.

"Ta-da!"

"Hmph."

"Oh come on. Do you know how many cliff faces and rock outcroppings and dangerously vertical hills I've scampered around and up?"

"I'd rather not think about it."

"I'm still here, aren't I? And I've only broken my leg twice."

"Oh goodness."

"We won't talk about my poor wrist though."

"Please, let's not talk about  _ any _ of your broken bones, thank you. I came here to give you news."

"Oh?" He plopped onto the ground, setting the mushrooms aside and pulling out his bits of paper, notes already scribbled across.

"Apparently your friend Anathema has asked to see you."

His head jerked up at that, "What? Really? Can she? Aziraphale, can she?"

"I was hesitant, I still am but, well...it's clear you have some control over the Below, as well as the Remnants. We've been able to maintain the exchange for hours at a time. I think it'll be alright. Beelzebub is on their way topside now to give her the news. If it works for her you'll be able to meet as soon as tomorrow."

Aziraphale blinked and in that moment Crowley had launched to his feet and had his arms wrapped around him.

"Thank you," he said into his shoulder.

"I. Er, y-yes. Of course, it's nothing." He tried to tell himself that Crowley was simply excited to see his friend, not to be free of the Below for a bit.

Crowley pushed away awkwardly, "Sorry. I just. Got excited."

"Not at all, my dear. Uh, what," he scrambled for something else to say, anything that would distract from how lovely it had been to feel Crowley's arms around him, to have that moment of interaction without the exchange attached to it. "What have you got there?"

He picked up a piece of the fungi, "Dunno. We're going to find out though."

"Please tell me you don't intend to eat that."

He smiled, slow and mischievous. "Only way to find out what it does. If it does anything."

"It could be poisonous!"

"I don't think the Below would poison me."

"I'd rather not risk it."

"I understand," Crowley said.

"Good, now I think--Crowley!"

The wily mortal had popped a tiny piece into his mouth and was chewing it with relish. "It's a bit chewy."

"Oh my god."

"That's you," Crowley said with a grin.

"If you get poisoned or-or die I...well, I'll never speak to you again!"

He only grinned and made a show of swallowing. "Alright now help me keep count."

"Count?"

"One...two...three...four..."

"What are we counting?"

"Six...seven...ei...ght...ni-ni..." he snorted, "nine. Aziraphale, your hair."

"What about it?"

"It is  _ so fluffy _ ."

"Oh dear." Aziraphale was no expert but he was fairly certain a mortal's pupils should not be that large. "Crowley?"

"Just...so damn curly and fluffy and oh, how far did I get? How far did I get?"

"In what?"

"The numbers! I don't think I made it to ten, did I make it to ten, I don't think I made it to ten. That's  _ fast _ . That's very, I should write this, I should." He looked around the floor, presumably for his papers and pencils. "I should." He looked up at Aziraphale and broke out into a wide grin. "So fluffy."

"I think perhaps we ought to get you some water."

"Wait. Gotta write." He sank to the floor and grabbed his pencil. Then he stared at it.

"...Crowley?"

"Shh. Do you hear what this thing is saying? I," he gasped, " _ Rude _ !"

"Crowley, it's a pencil."

"Oh you can't even talk to the Remnants, what do you know?"

"I suppose that's fair, but  _ that _ is  _ a pencil _ ."

His shoulders sank. "Gonna miss 'em."

"Miss...who?"

"Them! The Remnmemms."

"The Remnants?"

"Mhm. I don't want to leave, Aziraphale. I don't want to leave the Below and I don't want to leave you. I want to stay here and hold your hand and-and, I don't know, maybe a little itty-bitty kiss."

"Oh my."

"And I do miss Anathema, I do. And I hope the Them are doing okay."

"The...Them?"

"But I don't want to leave here." He turned to Aziraphale, eyes bright with tears. "I don't want to leave you. Please don't make me leave at summer's end, Aziraphale."

"I...you...you're mortal, Crowley."

"I don't care! I want to stay with you!" He pushed to his feet and took Aziraphale's hands. "Let's just leave!"

"Leave? I can't leave the Below, you know that."

"But...what about...there's gotta be a way. Fine. Fine we don't leave. I'll stay."

"Crowley you can't! I," he sighed, "you need to sober up. We can have this conversation later."

His hands wandered up Aziraphale's arms to rest on his shoulders. "You're so nice, Aziraphale. And you're so kind. And you don't deserve to be stuck down here but I will stay down here with you because I want to be near you and you don't have to hold my hand if you don't want to and you don't have to kiss me if you don't want to--"

"Of course I want to!"

"Really?"

"I--no. This is very wrong. You need to sober up."

"Or! Or, or or or," he lowered his voice, "we could hold hands and sneak a kiss."

Aziraphale stepped back, pulling free from Crowley. "That's enough."

"I--"

"No. Do forgive me, my dear."

Aziraphale tapped his finger to Crowley's forehead. He let out a little sigh as his eyes fluttered shut and he fell forward. Aziraphale scooped him up, "Let's get you to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder this DOES HAVE A HAPPY ENDING. I PROMISE.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH Omg it's been a MONTH??? since I last updated??? I'm so sorry I didn't realize it'd been that long! D:  
> I hope this chapter makes up for it! It has some moments Ive been wanting to write basically since I started the fic. Also do take note of the updated chapter count! (That's part of what took so long, finalizing the timeline)
> 
> Enjoy!

When Crowley woke it was in his bed, blankets up to his chin, and Little One curled up on the pillow beside him. He also woke to a pounding head, an incredibly dry mouth, and for some reason his eyes hurt. He poked Little One, "Hey you," he whispered. "Don't think you're supposed to be up here."

"Oh, you're awake!"

Crowley winced and turned over to see Aziraphale sitting in a chair beside his bed.

"'ziraphale?"

"I was a bit worried when you didn't wake up after a few hours. Slept right through the night."

He blinked. His thoughts were coming ever so slowly. "Mushroom."

"That's right, my dear."

With a groan he sat up, "Where are my notes? I need to write down what I can remember. Those kicked in _fast_ . I've never eaten _anything_ that had effects," he rummaged through his blankets, "that started that quickly. Barely made it," he leaned over the side of the bed and instantly regretted it as his head swam, "oof, barely made it to ten. Where are my papers?"

"The table?"

He looked up, still half over the side of the bed, and sure enough his notes were on the bed side table. Crowley scooped them up, shuffling to sit and lean back against the headboard. "Alright so, less than ten seconds. Uh, wait, did I pass out or..." He squinted at Aziraphale. "Did you put me to sleep?"

"I did."

There was something off. Aziraphale always sat up straight, hands in his lap, but he seemed somehow to be a bit straighter, a bit more nervous.

Crowley shook his head, he could tackle that in a moment. He had to get his notes down before he forgot.

"Alright so, very fast. Hmm, definitely had an effect on my perception, I remember finding your hair hilarious for some reason. Let's see. Hallucinations, I remember a talking..." He looked at the pencil in his hand. "A talking you. Hmm." He went back to scribbling. "Mood swings. I don't remember why but I do remember getting very sad all of a sudden. Oh...right. That's why. Hmm." He thought of all the things he'd been afraid of, of how much he didn't want to leave the Below, all the things he wanted to tell Aziraphale but...couldn't...say...aloud.

Frowning, he turned to Aziraphale who swallowed and looked away.

"....reduced inhibitions?"

"Hmm. Memory loss?" Aziraphale added hopefully.

Crowley thought of how he'd held onto Aziraphale's shoulders and the words 'itty bitty kiss' came barreling into his head. "Ngk. ...'fraid not."

"Ah." He looked down at his lap. Some of the tension seemed to leave him only to be replaced with a different sort.

"We should, I mean we should probably talk about that, right?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Wha? Look we said we wouldn't, y'know, hide things and-and we'd be honest and _honestly_ I don't want to leave and I do want to stay here, with you, and--"

"And there's nothing to discuss. You are mortal. You cannot stay." He stood, tugged at his gloves. "I suggest you get some breakfast. You’re meeting with your friend today, remember? Beelzebub is going to bring her to the outside table, they’ll come get you when she’s here."

"Aziraphale..."

"No need to worry about the exchange today, we've done very well recently. I'll uh. I'll...see you for dinner. Perhaps. Yes. Right, then. Enjoy seeing your friend."

And with that the god quickly left the room. Crowley stared at the closed door for a moment longer before collapsing forward, burying his head in his hands.

“Oh nooo, what have I done? I’ve ruined it, Little One. I’ve ruined it.”

He managed, eventually, to drag himself out of bed and to the bath. He wanted to be somewhat presentable when he saw Anathema for the first time in months. He didn’t eat breakfast though, couldn’t stomach it. Instead, he sat on his bed, Little One curled up in his lap, while he waited for Beelzebub to knock on his door.

When the knock came, he jumped. He set Little One in a fluff of blankets and opened the door to a scowling Beelzebub.

“Come on,” they said.

Crowley’s heart was racing. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. This was _Anathema_. He loved her. And she loved him! It had only been a few months. She did an apprenticeship in the city for longer than that once. Still, he hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading above. What if things had changed? What if she resented him for not visiting or writing sooner? What if she didn’t have a solution for keeping Aziraphale safe? So many possibilities, he tried not to let them pull him down as he slowly ascended the steps.

She was pacing when he reached the top, her side to him, and his heart cracked at the sight of her.

“Here he is,” Beelzebub said unceremoniously.

Crowley would have shot them a look if not for Anathema turning and seeing him and the look of absolute joy on her face. Before he really knew what to do with himself she was closing the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him. From there it was a bit of a blur of crying and pulling back long enough to _really_ look at each other before hugging and crying some more.

Finally, wiping at her eyes, Anathema pulled Crowley toward the table and sat down. “Tell me _everything_.”

And he did. He told her about that very first night and how scared he was and then how quickly things went from scary to very confusing. He told her about the exchange and how it felt, ignoring, for now, her little smirk when he talked about holding Aziraphale’s hand. He told her about the Lake and the Remnants, delighted in her barely concealed face of disgust when he mentioned LIttle One napping with him. (He did leave out Aziraphale’s other form though, that didn’t feel like it was his to tell.)

“And, so now we do the exchange by the Lake, have little picnics, it’s relaxing. The Remnants love it when I’m around, they’re absolute menaces.”

Anathema watched him, her face soft. “You sound different, Crowley. Happier.”

“I am happy, I _am_. But…”

“But what?”

“I’m in trouble, ‘nathema.”

“What? I thought you said they were kind?” Her hold on his hand tightened as she peered around him at Beelzebub laying across the table, staring up at the sky. “Has something changed?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I just. I messed up.”

“What happened?”

He groaned, “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave the Below.”

“...really?”

“I love it there. I mean, yeah, I sneak up here every so often. Get some fresh air and sunlight but it’s only for a bit. I don’t want to _leave_ . I don’t want to leave _him_.”

“Oh…”

“I miss you! I do! Honest. I, it’s just,” he fumbled for the words to explain it.

“You’ve found something here.”

“Center.”

“I see.”

“And-and the Remnants! They need me. I’m the only one that can understand them. Aziraphale can’t, I don’t think Beelzebub wants to. I’m the only one that can make sure they’re taken care of. I’m the only reason they get to leave the Lake and explore and play and I don’t want to take that from them.”

“Ok so, wait, what’s the problem?”

“I’m mortal. And Aziraphale said I can’t stay. I think he doesn’t want to trap me down here or something and I understand that but...I want to _at least_ enjoy the time we have left together. I really, really like him Anathema.”

“And he doesn’t feel the same?”

“He does! I think.”

She let out a heavy sigh, “Oh my god. Have you _told_ him how you feel?”

“I did! I was just...floating on some Belowshroom at the time.”

“Crowley!”

“What? Like you’re surprised I put something I found on the ground in my mouth!”

“No, not really.” She leaned in with a smile, “But did you save any?”

He couldn’t help but grin back at her, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you some. _But_ , the point, my point is, I told him how I feel and he said he feels the same but he didn’t want to talk about it while I wasn’t sober.”

“Smart.”

“But then he didn’t want to talk about it this morning either.”

“Less smart.”

“He said we have nothing to discuss,” Crowley whined, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “And now I don’t know what to doooo.”

“It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long without me.”

“Barely! Anathema a dismembered hand knocked on my door in the middle of the night and I _let it in_.”

“Seems like it worked out alright. Look, don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

He looked up at her, “What? Really? How?”

“By being amazing, as usual, obviously. Hey, Beelz?”

“What?” They didn’t even bother looking in her direction.

“I want to meet Aziraphale.”

That got their attention. They sat up right, “What?”

“What?” Crowley echoed.

“Well I didn’t get to say before you launched into your woes, Crowley, but I convinced the council to meet with him! To discuss things! They want to meet in three days and I think it could help if I meet him beforehand, and can get a feel for what he’s like and can tell them what to expect.”

Beelzebub made a face, “I don’t know if he’ll want that.”

“And we’ll go on not knowing,” Anathema said, “unless we ask. Please?”

“Ugh. Fine.” They whistled and a few moments later Astraeus came flying out of the cave entrance. He looked eager to come over and meet Anathema but Beelzebub blocked his line of sight and whispered a message to pass along.

“Great,” Anathema said, once he flew off again, “while that’s happening, Beelz how can we get Crowley and Aziraphale together?”

“Ngk,” Crowley gulped.

“What?” Beelzebub nearly squawked, “Why would you think I want anything to do with that?”

“Because he’s your friend and you care about him and--”

“Don’t.”

“You’re secretly very nice.”

“I am _not_.”

Crowley looked from one to the other. He had no idea Beelzebub was capable of talking without frowning and yet, despite their yelling, that’s exactly what they were doing with Anathema. “I don’t know what’s happening here,” he said, “but can you antagonize the immortal _after_ they tell me how to woo my god?” (And wasn’t _that_ a sentence?)

“Look,” Beelzebub said, “this is _all_ I’m going to say on the matter because I really don’t want to get involved. He likes you, alright? It’s obvious to anyone with eyes. It doesn’t happen often, I can count on one hand maybe, but he _has_ had feelings for offerings in the past. But nothing ever comes of it. He usually keeps it to himself, bottled up. ...you’re the first person to reciprocate those feelings.”

“Really?” asked Crowley.

Beelzebub shrugged, “He’s an immortal god that unintentionally sucks the life out of anything he touches. Normal mortals are afraid of that, Crowley.”

Both Crowley and Anathema scoffed.

“Most mortals are idiots,” said Anathema, “which I think you’d agree with.”

Beelzebub nodded in agreement.

“Ok so,” said Crowley, “what should I do?”

“Ugh, this is _not_ in my job description! I don’t know? Talk to him?”

“I tried. He ran away.”

“Yeah, he does that. He gets nervous. He just wants everyone to be happy, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. So if telling you that you can’t stay down here because you’re a mortal and he doesn’t want to watch you eventually die is going to hurt you, he’ll just...avoid the whole thing. You know he dithered about outside your rooms for the better part of an hour before first introducing himself?”

“Really?”

“Yeah! He’s...Aziraphale’s kind. He doesn’t want to hurt or be hurt. And if he thinks it's unavoidable then he’ll hide and swallow it down and suffer alone. If you want to talk about this with him...I’m not saying you have to corner him but...you...may have to corner him.”

“Oh,” Anathema said, “I cannot _wait_ to meet this guy.”

Astraeus flew over and landed on the table between them all.

“Mrah!”

“Well,” said Crowley, “you’re not going to have to wait long.”

*

Aziraphale adjusted his crown, fussed with his sleeves and buttons. He'd known there was a chance Crowley's friend might ask to meet him but he had hoped it wouldn't come to pass. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. Crowley had already voiced his desire to stay in the Below, perhaps his very mortal and living friend might remind him of what he would miss if he stayed in the Below. He would simply have to go back, there was no way around it.

Maybe a visit every so often couldn't hurt, though... They could have tea at the outdoor table or.. Aziraphale shook his head. No. None of that.

With one final run of his fingertips across his buttons, he headed outside.

Beelzebub was waiting for him at the door, a young woman with wild hair and piercing eyes standing beside them. Crowley sat at the far end of the table talking with Astraeus. Their eyes met and Aziraphale looked away quickly.

"Anathema, this is Aziraphale, the God Below."

"Hello, my dear."

"Oooohhh," Anathema said.

"Hmm?" Aziraphale looked to Beelzebub who only shook their head and walked away.

When he turned back to the mortal she was looking him up and down, nodding her head. "Yeah, no, this makes a ton of sense now."

"What does?"

"We'll get to that."

"Uh. Al-alright. Beelzebub said your townspeople want to meet with me? To discuss the future of the exchange? It's very important to me they understand that I don't _kill_ anyone."

"Right. Sure, I'll tell them. Can I read your paths?"

"I--what?"

"I've never read the path of a god before, I don't even know if I can to be honest."

"Oh, I didn't realize you were a seer."

"Eh, seer, witch, puppet of the fates, whatever you want to call it."

"I see. How does it work?"

"For you...hmm." She took half a step back, studying him. "Give me your gloves."

"My gloves?"

"Yeah, give 'em."

Aziraphale slid them off, catching Beelzebub's eye. They shrugged. He held the gloves out to Anathema, careful not to let her touch his bare fingers. She turned them over in her hands and then put one on.

"Hmm."

"Yes?"

She looked up and caught sight of him fiddling with his ring. "That ring. Can I hold it a second?"

"Oh. Uh." Aziraphale hesitated. It was the only thing he had that he knew was from his time as a mortal. There might be other items around the Below but only the ring he knew for certain was his. "Do be careful," he said at last as he gently slid it off. He dropped it into Anathema's outstretched, ungloved hand.

She rolled the ring around in one hand, head tilted to the side as she stared off at some point just past him. She flexed her gloved hand once more. And then held the ring with the gloved hand.

"Hmm."

"Y-Yes?"

"Here," she returned his items. Aziraphale hoped she would explain while he had something to fiddle with but she just stood there and watched him. It was unsettling.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing. That's not quite how it works. I got feelings mostly. That you may be feeling rundown. Or-or like you're stuck in the same daily round."

"Having a routine is good, I think."

"Not when you're _stuck_ in it. Not when you're afraid to try something else. To branch out."

"My dear, I'm not sure what it is you're up to here but--"

She held up her hand, "Not up to anything. I wouldn't disrespect my abilities by lying about what I see." She paused, "Even to help Crowley."

"Ah."

"Talk to him. Please. That's all I'll ask for."

"I suppose that's fair."

He could tell by the way she narrowed her eyes that she noticed he hadn't said that he _would_ talk to Crowley, but she didn't push it.

"Well, the council has agreed to meet with you. Three days time if that's agreeable to you?"

"Of course! Ah, I suppose we can all meet here at mid-day?"

She nodded, “Yeah, that’ll work. I don’t know how it’ll _go_ to be honest. They don’t really believe me. I think they’re just humoring me.”

“We shall soon prove them wrong, my dear.”

She didn’t respond, only staring at him, a small quirk to her lips. “Right,” she said after a moment, “center, but not just for him I think.”

“What?”

Anathema turned away, hair and skirts a flurry of movement, “Beelz, will you escort me back?”

“You’re a witch,” Beelzebub complained, even as they got up, “can’t you just turn any problems into toads?”

“Turn you into a toad,” she said.

“You’re going already?” Crowley sounded so disappointed.

That was exactly why he couldn’t stay in the Below. He had a life to go back to. Aziraphale turned away to let them say their goodbyes in relative privacy as he made his way downstairs. He had no doubt Crowley would try and bring the topic up again once Anathema left. Aziraphale would just have to be stern about the whole thing. Really put his foot down as it were.

When he got to the small study he was surprised to see a small meal already laid out. Just some fruit and cheeses, some wine, things Crowley liked to snack on, some of Aziraphale’s favorites to smell. Only, he hadn’t set any of that out.

“Hey,” Crowley said from behind him.

“Oh! H-hello, my dear. Uh. Um…”

“I thought maybe we could have a snack? I didn’t eat breakfast. Too nervous about seeing Anathema again.”

“Yes, alright that sounds...okay.”

They settled at the table, Crowley spreading jam on a bit of toast. He was going to bring it up, Aziraphale just knew it, any moment now. He had to get them talking about something else, anything else.

“How was it? Seeing her again?”

He let out a happy sigh, “Amazing. Anathema’s my closest friend. For a long time she was my only friend. But well, now I’ve got you.”

“Oh…”

“And Beelz, though I’m sure they’d make a face about it. And the twins. And Little One. And all the Remnants, really.”

“Crowley…”

“It’s nice.”

But it wasn’t sustainable, was what Aziraphale wanted to say. It couldn’t last. They should just make the best of what they had.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley had put down his toast and jam and was looking over at him with such a hopeful expression. “We should talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, my dear. You’re mortal and you can’t stay down here. You have a life above. Next spring there will be a new offering and things will continue as they always have.”

“Why do we need a new one? Why can’t I just...keep doing it?”

“You _know_ the answer to that.”

He fell silent, looking down at the food. There was simply no way Aziraphale would let Crowley stay down there, slowly...slowly _dying_. He wouldn’t allow it and he certainly didn’t want to be there to witness it.

“I--”

“Please, Crowley. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Alright. Um.” He looked around the room, clearly casting about for anything else to discuss. “Why do you watch me eat?”

“Oh! Uh. Well. Curiosity, I suppose.”

“About what?”

“How it tastes.”

“Wait, you can’t eat food? I thought you just...preferred not to or didn’t need to cause you’re, y’know, a god.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t survive my touch.”

“Even with the gloves?”

“They dull it, certainly, but they don’t remove the effects. Smaller items that don’t have much life to them to begin with…” He leaned forward and picked up a pear. It was only in his hand a few moments before it blackened and crumpled.

“Oh.”

“Mhm,” he said, sprinkling ash to the ground.

“What if...what if I fed you a piece?”

“What?”

“Yeah! What if I fed you a piece of fruit. You don’t touch it with your hands. You...eat it from mine. Would that work?”

“I-I’m sure I don’t know. I…”

Crowley was already pushing to his feet and coming around the table, “Let’s try it.”

“Oh, uh…”

“What can it hurt?”

“I suppose…”

“You’re curious, right?”

He looked at the fresh pear in Crowley’s hand and wrung his own hands together, “Dreadfully so.”

“Good.”

Crowley perched on the edge of the table. He picked up a small knife and began cutting a small piece of the fruit. Before he fully realized what he was doing, Aziraphale scooched to the edge of his seat.

“I feel a bit silly,” he said.

“Nonsense, here.”

He looked from Crowley’s face to the offered piece of fruit. “Um. Shall I just…?”

“Mhm.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll just…right.”

It took a couple of false starts, Crowley grinning all the while, but eventually Aziraphale managed to lean forward and gently take a bite of the piece. And oh, _oh!_ The texture of the skin wasn’t anything like he thought it would be-- and the meat of the fruit itself was-- and oh the the flavor, the-- and then it was ash. Aziraphale coughed on it, quickly covering his mouth.

“Oh,” Crowley said, “don’t like it? I thought for sure you did at first.”

Aziraphale kept his hand to his mouth, wincing as he worked to swallow down the bits of ash. “No, no, my dear I, it’s _very_ good.”

“Yeah? You want more?”

He looked up and Crowley was smiling down at him. He looked so happy, so encouraging, so genuine. His hair was plaited into a frizzy braid, loose strands and locks falling out to frame his face. Flowers had been braided into it. He wondered if Anathema did that.

He couldn't. He could never braid flowers into Crowley's hair. He would never be able to playfully feed him a piece of fruit. He would never be able to walk the above with him. Feel the crunch of snow or dry leaves or the soft press of grass, none of it.

Crowley's expression shifted to one of concern. "'Ziraphale?"

It was too much. He rushed from his seat, barely muttering an 'excuse me' and left the room.

*

Aziraphale paced his room. He'd been pacing for an hour or more. He'd thought Crowley would come after him, it wasn't as though he couldn't find his rooms. He'd been nervous and on edge, waiting for Crowley to burst in, for them to have the conversation he'd been trying to avoid. But he never came. And that was fair, wasn't it? How many times could Aziraphale turn him down, turn him away, _run_ away, before he stopped chasing him?

He just wanted to enjoy the time they had. He didn't want to think about what they would never have. He didn't want to reason or bargain. He wanted to hold his hand, not for the exchange, and sit by the Lake and listen to him talk about some great misadventure he'd had above or watch him play with the Remnants. Everything else, the above, the winter, the summer, the exchange, it felt less and less important. And oh didn't _that_ make him feel guilty as well? He was the God Below. This was his domain. He had a very simple job. Which he was doing, wasn't he? The exchange was happening. The above got its spring and summer. Surely...surely he was allowed to find his own bit of happiness, even if only for a little while?

He turned in his pacing and found himself standing in the hall, outside of Crowley's door. He glanced behind him only to see the stone wall of the hall. His domain, indeed. The Below clearly had its own thoughts on the matter.

Aziraphale raised a shaking fist and gently knocked on the door.

"S'open."

It wasn't, he thought as he turned the handle. It never was. Except it always was for him.

Crowley sat in the middle of his bed, Little One scampering across the floor chasing and tangling itself in a shoelace.

"Hello, dear."

"Hey."

"I'm...can I come in?"

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale shuffled a little further in, closing the door behind him. Little One ran over and drummed its fingers on his foot but when he didn't give it any further attention than to smile awkwardly at it, it ran off to play some more.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Not really," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Crowley I...I don't want to talk about you staying down here, you can't. And-and we should just accept that."

"I know."

"Oh."

"I just want to enjoy the time that we _do_ have left. That’s what I wanted to say earlier. I'll be honest, I'm worried what will happen to the Remnants when I leave. I've been talking to them about it, y'know, preparing them for it, but I don't think it's going to be easy for them. And, obviously, well, maybe not _obviously_ but I hope not for y--well I don't hope it's not easy for you I just--"

"I understand what you mean."

"Oh good, glad one of us does."

A quiet moment.

"Did you uh,” Crowley started, shifting his weight on the bed, “did you mean what you said yesterday?"

"What did I say?"

"When I was, very slightly inebriated on--"

" _Very slightly_?"

"Yeah, yeah alright, _but_ I said that I wanted to hold your hand. Not...for the exchange just to, y'know, be close to you. And you said you wanted that too."

"I did."

Crowley held out his hand.

Aziraphale hesitated.

Little One, did not. It ran across the floor at full speed and flung itself up onto the side of the bed, scampering up and over Crowley's leg, heading for his arm. 

"Oi! This invitation wasn't for _you_! Get!" He took hold of Little One, pressing it to his chest, "Calm down, you. I'm in high demand, sunshine, you might want to get over here."

With a steadying breath, Aziraphale walked over to the side of the bed. He slipped off his glove, noting the pleasant surprise on Crowley's face, and gently slid his hand in his.

And it felt...the same as it always did. He could feel the pull of his life, the subtle shift of the exchange happening because it couldn't _not_ happen, he had no control over that. But it wasn't _why_ they were holding hands and that made all the difference. He sat on the edge of the bed.

"That's not so bad, yeah?"

"It's wonderful, my dear."

Crowley cleared his throat, "I might have also said, um, uh, well..."

"Something about an itty bitty kiss?"

"Hnn, yeah." He avoided Aziraphale's gaze, busying himself with settling Little One off to the side. "Is that something you want?"

"Well...I've-I've never kissed anyone before. I mean not as a god. I'm sure I must've as a mortal. ...probably." Crowley looked up then, eyes alight. "But we can't," Aziraphale hastened to add. "It'll, it'll be like when we do the exchange."

"Exactly."

"What?"

"We do the exchange, _this_ ," he squeezed Aziraphale's hand, "for _hours_. And I'm fine! Better than ever, really. What's a quick peck compared to that?"

"I..."

"Do you want to kiss me?"

Despite his best efforts, Aziraphale glanced down at Crowley's mouth, an action which, judging by the grin that spread across his face, Crowley did not miss.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Not what I asked." He shifted a bit closer, "Can I kiss you?"

"You probably shouldn't."

"You keep answering questions I haven't asked, sunshine."

He looked down at their hands.

"Hey," Crowley touched the tip of his fingers to Aziraphale's chin, gently lifting his face. "Aziraphale. It's a simple ask. Yes or no. And believe me, both answers are perfectly fine with me. Do you. Want to kiss me?"

"...yes."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

He leaned forward, Aziraphale did his best not to cower, and then Crowley's lips were against his. His hand, warm and sturdy in his own, the gentle press of his fingertips along his cheek, and the softness of his lips. So many points of contact that were all alight, a hum of connection and warmth that seemed to flow through him. Then Crowley sat back with a nervous smile.

"Oh," said Aziraphale. "That was. Oh."

He grinned and shifted over, making space on the bed. Aziraphale felt a slight bit of panic rise up within him.

"I-I should probably say I don't, I mean, I know mortals, well mortals and immortals alike truthfully um, well they get up to all sorts of, that is I'm not really, I don't want, the kiss was very nice but. Well. I don't have any interest in anything _more_ than that."

Crowley shrugged, still shuffling blankets and pillows with one hand, his other still resolutely holding onto Aziraphale. "Okay. Never been my favorite thing anyway." He moved over a bit more, "I'd like to just, I don't know, lay with you though. We could hold each other. Have a cuddle. Is that alright?"

"Oh! I. Yes, that's-that's, yes."

"I am a bit chilly after all."

"What? Why are you cold? I thought we ascertained you could control the temperature down here?"

"I can," Crowley said, "and I'm a bit cold."

Aziraphale frowned, "Why would you _choose_ to be cold?"

Crowley leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "So that I can share your warmth, sunshine."

"O-oh. Well then."

“Come on. Take off your shoes, get comfortable, come up here.”

“I’ll have to let go of your hand for a moment.”

He made a face at that, “Fine. But only because I have to help get Little One settled.”

Aziraphale felt the absence the moment Crowley’s hand left his. He leaned forward to make quick work of his laces. Halfway through it occurred to him that wasn't necessary and he snapped his fingers, removing his shoes and setting them neatly by the foot of the bed. His jacket came off as well, folding neatly to sit on the far corner of the bed. It left Aziraphale in his collar shirt and pants. He wiggled his toes in his socks. It was the most undressed he’d ever been in front of Crowley.

“Cheater,” Crowley said.

He was carefully undoing his braid, setting the flowers to the side on the table. “It likes to lay in my hair,” he explained. When he was finished he settled back against the blankets and pillows, Little One immediately running up to burrow into his curls. What a sight he was. He smiled up at Aziraphale. “Join me?”

He looked down at his hands. One bare. One still gloved. He could feel the weight of the choice on him. “You’re sure, my dear? That the exchange hasn’t taken too much of you lately or--”

“I’m sure.”

With a nod he slid off the other glove and set them both on his jacket.

The blankets were soft and fluffy. The pillows carefully arranged to create a sort of buffer between them and the rest of the world. He laid on his side, facing Crowley, who had the most wonderful smile he’d ever seen. They lay like that for a while, just staring and smiling at one another. Eventually Crowley nudged in closer and Aziraphale met him the rest of the way. He tucked his head under Aziraphales chin, arms folded up and between them as Aziraphale held him. He could feel, even beneath the layers of Crowley's clothes, the slight pull of his energy. But it was just that, slight. They would be okay for a little while. For a little while the exchange didn’t exist, the above didn’t exist, the below didn’t matter. It was just the two of them and Crowley's steady, warm breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus, with this chapter I have managed to get the entirety of the horoscope from the first episode of gomens sprinkled in throughout the fic <3
> 
> fun fact: the food-feeding scene was originally gonna go in a VERY different direction but idk, the more I worked on this fic the more that didn't seem to suit this iteration of them. Ah well  
> Another fun fact: I actually don't like pears. Everything about their texture is a big nope for me lol
> 
> Also the number of comments I got that were like "uhhhh shrooms DO NOT WORK THAT WAY" fjdaklf;jda I love y'all, keep living your clearly more adventurous lives
> 
> Just two more chapters left and an epilogue! :O!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early cause I've gotta take one of my girls to the vet tomorrow (wish us luck, idk why she's sick D: ) 
> 
> content warning for some mild injury and threats of violence / murder

Aziraphale said they couldn't stay that way for long. Being so close and in contact for too long made him nervous. He didn't sleep normally, so he offered to stay awake, keep a mind of the time. Crowley mumbled his agreement into his chest and asked him to at least close his eyes for a moment, just to rest, to see what it would feel like.

"Of course, my dear."

The excitement of seeing Anathema again, of knowing the meeting with the council was coming soon, of _getting to kiss Aziraphale_ , it all caught up with him and settled in his chest. A quiet sort of buzz that he let lull him to sleep. It certainly didn't hurt that Aziraphale was _so_ warm and _so_ strong and _holding him_.

Entirely too soon Aziraphale squeezed him gently, whispering his name to wake him.

"Hrm, noooo,” he mumbled. “Sleep time, no wake time."

"Wake time, my dear."

"Don't wanna."

"Well you can certainly continue to nap if you like, but I should--"

Crowley waited a moment, two, but Aziraphale didn't continue. He'd gone completely stiff. "...ziraphale?"

"Crowley I need you to get up, _right now_."

The panic in his voice jerked Crowley fully out of his sleepiness. Aziraphale pushed to sit up and Crowley followed suit. "What's wro..." He put his hand down onto the mattress only it hadn't landed on fabric or blankets or even, as happened once before, accidentally on Little One. Beneath his hands was grass. Flowers.

"Wha?"

He was surrounded by greenery. Creeping vines sprawled out over the side of the bed to cover half the floor. Branches reached up from the corners to the ceiling, creating a canopy of leaves and more flora.

"Aziraphale, this is beautiful. How did you do this?"

"I _didn’t_ ," he said, his voice going a little squeaky in desperation. "I didn't do this, Crowley. I _can’t_ do this. Not in the Below, the Below can't sustain life I. Oh." He wrung his hands, "We were only together for an hour, at most."

The half of the bed that Aziraphale laid on remained blankets and pillows. Crowley poked at a spot where the fabric became green, where it morphed into blades of grass.

"Are you alright, my dear? How do you feel? We should get you some food, some water--"

"I'm fine. Honest."

"This isn't good."

"Sure it is!" He tried to exude a confidence he didn't quite feel. He _did_ feel fine but he wasn't convinced that was a good thing either. He remembered how tired the first exchange had left him and now, now it was like he felt refreshed after. "Look, here, clearly you're the god Below and I'm...uh, well I can be th-the...god above? The god of life! There we go and this," he leaned over Aziraphale to grab his wooden crown, "this," he said as he set it on his head, "is my crown of life. Ta-da!"

Aziraphale didn't stop worrying at his ring but he did smile just a bit. Crowley would take that as a win.

"You're very silly, my dear."

"Not silly. I'm a god. Have a crown and everything."

"I've always wanted to ask, why were you wearing that when you came here?"

"Some of the kids from town gave it to me. They said...that I'm their champion.”

“That's very sweet.”

And if all went according to the plan, he would see them again. They would know that he was okay and alive and they would go back to pulling harmless pranks on the townspeople. Because Aziraphale would insist he go back.

He forced the thoughts away. Aziraphale still look worried.

“Look sunshine, there’s no use in worrying. We don’t know why these things are happening or how so let’s just, go on with our day. It’s not hurting either of us. Here," Crowley took off his crown and set it gently on Aziraphale's head. "There you are."

"I already have a crown."

"That old thing? Mine is infinitely cooler."

Aziraphale laughed. "Come now, we really should get an actual meal in you."

"Maybe I'll wear it when the council comes."

"You do seem to have reign over the remnants."

"Yes! My subjects are numerous and, uh, many...limbed."

Aziraphale was laughing again, in earnest now. He was also saying something but Crowley didn't hear it. Instead he stared at the flower that had fluttered down from the canopy above and landed on Aziraphale's shoulder. Only it didn't blacken. It didn't wilt. It remained perfect and pristine. Until Azirphale moved to get up and it tumbled down. It was only a few moments, too fast, Crowley figured, for Aziraphale's touch to affect it. But it looked so right sitting there. He wondered what the god would look like surrounded by flowers. Aziraphale in the middle of a garden. He'd be the loveliest thing in it, that was for sure.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

Aziraphale had his shoes and jacket on once more, the wooden crown set aside on the table. "Everything alright?"

“Yeah. Yeah it’s," he picked up the single flower and set it in the middle of the pillow on Aziraphale's side of the bed, “perfect."

The next three days were wonderful. Aziraphale turned down Crowley's offer to feed him again, which was disappointing but Crowley could understand how it might be too intimate for him. And he refused to lay with him unless there was at least a blanket between them, maybe a few pillows for good measure which Crowley thought ridiculous but didn't argue. He didn't want to argue. (He also didn’t point out how the greenery in his room was only getting more verdant, more lush, and more flowers were blooming.)

They only had a couple of weeks left at most. Besides, Aziraphale still agreed to hold his hand. It was late enough in the season they didn't need to do the exchange any more. It was nice to just sit at the Lake and watch the Remnants explore all the new kinds of weeds and such that were growing around it.

Crowley told him stories about the various trouble he and Anathema would get into and Aziraphale would read aloud. Sometimes Crowley would describe what a piece of food tasted like, how it felt. There was the sand castle competition they managed to convince Beelzebub to judge (as the Remnants didn't feel Aziraphale would be unbiased) and Crowley spent the entire evening pouting that he'd lost to a team of three hands and a foot.

"They don't even have eyes!"

"And yet their castle had turrets," said Beelzebub.

"They had a hand! _Literally!_ An extra one! That's not fair! I had an armless torso! No offense, Nell."

Nell shrugged.

The night before the meeting Crowley insisted they sleep down by the Lake. Just in case the council wanted Crowley come back or if Aziraphale wanted him to leave or, he didn't know what else could happen but he wanted to be near the Lake, near the Remnants, bare feet in the sand...just in case it was the last time.

The morning of Beelzebub left to meet with Anathema in town and lead everyone back to the outside table. Neither she nor the council would be able to find it without Beelzebub’s help. Astraeus and Asteria agreed to patrol the Lake in their shadow forms, just in case the Remnants got antsy. They promised to behave but there were about to be several humans just at the edge of the Below and who knew what that would cause.

Crowley paced the study.

"My dear, you're more nervous than I am, why is that?"

"You're a god. You can snap your fingers and do anything."

"Only in the Below."

"Wait, really?"

"Mhm. It doesn’t work above."

"Oh..." Why did they make him feel worse?

"What's the matter?"

"Well they _did_ send me to kill you, remember?"

"Yes, but that was before they knew none of the offerings die. Before they knew it's not a permanent arrangement. And that I'm not keeping summer from them. They didn't have all the information."

"I'm afraid that even once they do it won't make a difference."

"Nonsense. We'll talk to the right people and work the whole thing out."

He continued to pace. His bare feet pressing into the stone with every step. The Below felt just as anxious as he did. "You don't feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"It feels...wobbly."

"Wobbly?"

"Unsettled. Everything is unsettled. On edge."

"Have you considered that the Below and the Remnants are feeding off of _your_ anxiety? The Below has proven time and time again to react to your wants and needs, how you feel. The Remnants as well."

"Maybe." It didn't feel like that at all though.

Crowley knew the moment Beelzebub arrived with Anathema and the rest because everything beneath his feet went very, very still. He dropped to his knees, pressing his hands firm against the stone and his mouth close to the floor as he whispered softness to the Below. Encouraging words.

He made promises he wasn't sure he could keep. That he'd be right back. That it would be fine. That he would keep Aziraphale safe. The Below accepted it all with a quiet sigh and he stood up in time for Beelzebub to appear in the doorway.

"They're--"

"I know," Crowley said. He placed his crown on his head. He’d asked Aziraphale to snap into existence a simple white dress for him. Something loose and perfect for the weather. He liked how he looked standing beside Aziraphale’s black and blue accents. He thought they looked well together. And he hoped it sent a clear message to the council on whose side he would be on, if it came to it. "Let's go."

He wasn't sure what he expected. Perhaps for the entire council to make an appearance as this was an important discussion. Standing near the stone table was Gabriel, Sandalphon and Hastur. The three most empty-headed members. Maybe these were the three that lost the draw. He'd hoped Agnes or Frances would come.

But then the decision to murder their god had been approved by the entire council, hadn't it? Maybe it didn't matter who came, if they all wanted the same ridiculous goal.

"Oh shit," Hastur said when Crowley reached the top of the stairs. "You're really still alive."

Anathema came forward to take his hands and squeeze them before moving to stand beside him. Aziraphale stepped out, careful to keep within the shadow of the awning, Beelzebub on his other side. The four of them faced the three council members in silence.

"Well," said Aziraphale, "I'm so glad you all could make it. Please have a seat."

" _You’re_ a god?" The look on Gabriel's face was impossible to misinterpret.

"Bit soft lookin, aren't ya?" said Hastur from the back. "You don't look scary at all."

"Good," said Aziraphale, "I'm so glad! I really do think you've all had the wrong impression of me all this time."

Sandalphon looked from Aziraphale to Crowley, "You couldn’t, y'know, take care of it? _This_ is it and you couldn't..."

"I chose," said Crowley, "not to kill him."

The council members exchanged looks.

"And _yes_ I told him of the murder plot. Aziraphale doesn't keep the summer from us. And none of the offerings before have died! They go off to live somewhere else. Somewhere besides our backwards little town."

“Oh! Yes!” said Gabriel. “That's an excellent point!"

"What?"

"We are backwards aren't we? Still offering sacrifices to an unknown god."

"I'm right here," said Aziraphale. “And I’m more than happy to get to know you and your townspeople!”

"Making bargains," Gabriel continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “with our lives for something as simple as good weather. We should be more modern. Move forward.”

"Right..." said Crowley.

"None of the cities still have sacrifices. Many of them don't even worship the gods any more."

Anathema squeezed his hand, "Crowley" she whispered, "I don't like where this is going."

"Unfortunately," said Aziraphale, "without me the winter will run rampant."

Gabriel tilted his head back and forth, "Ehhh, I don't believe that."

"What?"

"I don't believe that. I think you're lying."

"I'm not!"

He shrugged.

"You'd say anything to keep your power over us," said Hastur.

"My power over-- _what_?"

Beelzebub and Crowley both took a step forward, Beelzebub to stand a little in front of Aziraphale and Crowley to approach Gabriel.

"We invited you here," said Crowley, " to discuss the offering rituals. To renegotiate how it works. If people know that it's not a death sentence, it doesn't have to be this life changing thing. It's a couple of months in the Below and--

"Underground?" Hastur frowned.

"Just for a few months. And there's this outside area as well and--"

“Crowley," Gabriel said, “you had a job, and you didn't do it. Do you remember what I said would happen if you chose not to kill the god?”

Crowley didn't answer.

“We saaaid,” Gabriel said slowly, as though all Crowley needed was to jog his memory, “that the next sacrifice would get the chance. Right?”

“I don't understand,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You still want to kill me? Have you not heard what we're saying? The offerings don't die, _no one_ has to die.

“Exactly!” said Gabriel. “No one! But you're not a person, are you? You're an...an it, really.”

“Aziraphale,” said Anathema, “you should go back inside.”

“Come on,” Beelzebub said.

“Now just a moment,” Aziraphale flustered. “Surely we can--”

“He’s not an _it_ ,” Crowley said beneath clenched teeth. “ _He_ has kept the Below in check, kept our winters from overcoming us, kept our summers plentiful. You _know_ the stories of old, of what the signs used to be like. He is kind and caring and he's done nothing but look after our town.”

Gabriel's face scrunched up into some facsimile of amusement as he looked from Sandalphon to Hastur, "Crowley...it sounds almost like you, I don't know, have feelings for this thing."

Hastur and Sandalphon snickered.

“ _He is not a thing!_ ”

“Alright, alright,” Gabriel said, putting his hands up. He shook his foot free of some vines that had found their way onto him. “Fine. Either way, he's got to go." He leaned over to the side a bit to look around Crowley and at Aziraphale, “Sorry. But you've got to go. The whole council talked about it and on the off chance Anathema hadn't completely lost her mind to some weird potion or whatever it is she gets up to on the edge of town, then the plan would still be on.”

“We also decided,” said Sandalphon, “that it ought to happen in town. So everyone would know the deed was done and we were free.”

“It'll be a whole new kind of festival day!”

Crowley's hands balled into fists. “You want to murder him and then have a party about it.”

“Yeah! No more Drawing Day! No more Sacrifice Day! Just, Death of the God Below.”

“Day,” added Hastur, helpfully.

“Right! That. So,” Gabriel clapped his hands, rubbing them together. Hastur and Sandalphon moved forward, “Come with us back to town. The god. You can do whatever you want, Crowley. You had one job and you failed at it so we’ll be taking it from here.”

“But…” Aziraphale's voice sounded small, even for him. Crowley turned to see both Anathema and Beelzebub in front of him, ready to head off Hastur and Sandalphon.

“To be honest,” said Gabriel, “we're not sure how to kill an immortal, sort of goes against reason, so it might take some trial and error, you understand.”

“I-I _don’t_ understand,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Why are you doing this?”

Crowley put his sights back on Gabriel, “You're wrong, you _know_ this is wrong.”

“I don’t though,” Gabriel said. “We only know what this god and the gods before him have said. Ooooo,” he wiggled his fingers, “sacrifice one of your own if you want good weather, if you want good crops, if you don't want your livestock to die mysteriously. And we have. But there are places out there, Crowley, that don't live like this. They don't live under the foot of some immortal. Whole cities that have advances I can't even begin to describe without sounding mad. We could be like them!”

“And you have to _kill him_ for it?

He shrugged, “You know we did consider stripping him of his powers but we're not sure how to do that, and well, it leaves too much to chance. No, it’s best to just, keeerrrk," he made the sound as he dragged his thumb across his throat.

Crowley whirled around at the sound of a scuffle behind him. Hastur was on the ground, scrambling to get up again. Anathema and Beelzebub both were actively pushing Sandalphon back. And Aziraphale stood at the top of the stairs, eyes wide.

They had to get back into the Below, they'd be much safer inside.

Crowley stepped forward and yelped as he was yanked back again by his hair. Gabriel pulled him close, pressing Crowley against him, one arm over his chest.

“How about this,” he said loudly, bringing everything else to an abrupt halt. "How about...you come with us, _please_ , or I'll kill Crowley.”

“Gabriel!” Anathema yelled.

“You wouldn't,” said Aziraphale.

“I really would. As far as the town is concerned he's supposed to be dead anyway. He's been dead to us since sacrifice day so, eh. No real loss in the overall scheme of things. No offense, buddy.”

“He’s...he’s bluffing,” Anathema said. “They’re not armed. They don’t have any weapons.”

Gabriel laughed and it was an ugly thing “Weapons? I don't need a weapon!” He slapped the flat of his palm against Crowley's chest, “He's stick and bones. I could just," his arm came up, tightening around Crowley's throat. Crowley's hands instinctively came up, fingers scrabbling at Gabriel's arm. “Might take a while though.”

“ _Enough,_ ” Aziraphale’s voice echoed through the small area, the power of it humming in the ground.

“'ziraphale…”

"I'll go with you. Just let him go. We'll go back to your town, your people can do as they like."

"Great! You'll understand if I hold onto him a bit longer, let you get a head start." Gabriel moved to the side, dragging Crowley with him.

Crowley watched Aziraphale look down at the darkened shadow on the ground. The area where he was safe. Where he wouldn't have to drain the life of things around him to stay alive.

A part of him hoped Aziraphale let it happen. He hoped Aziraphale drained the life out of Sandalphon and Hastur and Gabriel. That would put an end to it all. Crowley could stay in the Below, live in the woods, he didn't care. Anything.

But he knew, even as he watched Aziraphale take his first hesitant step out of that safety, that the god wouldn't do it. He had never hurt a mortal and he certainly wasn't going to start now.

Crowley squirmed in Gabriel's grasp but it was pointless. All he could do was watch as Aziraphale followed Hastur and Sandalphon. When they were well enough away Gabriel shoved Crowley from him.

He stumbled, stepped on the hem of his dress, and fell forward. His head hit the ground hard.

Through the fog of pain and the ringing in his ears, he could just make out Aanathema yelling his name. He blinked hard and she was kneeling over him.

"Go," he managed to croak out. “Go back to town with them. Keep him safe.” His vision swam, the edges of Anathema blurry. “Go. I'll be-be right behind you.”

He could just make out the shape of her running off before his vision went black.

*

Beelzebub’s hands shook as they moved Crowley's hair from his face. The place on his forehead where he’d hit the ground was red and swollen. He wasn’t bleeding though. Was that better? Or worse? Did the blood need to come out? They had no idea how mortals worked. How their stupid bodies worked. They healed so much slower. What if he didn’t wake up in time? What if...what if the townspeople figured out how to hurt Aziraphale? How to kill him?

"Crowley," Beelzebub whispered, shaking him gently. "Crowley, wake up! He needs you!" They clutched at the front of his dress, " _Crowley_...please. I-I need your help."

He winced. Groaned.

"Crowley!"

"...ziraphale.."

“They took him.”

Beelzebub took hold of his arms, helping him sit up. His grip on them tightened as he moved. He kept his eyes shut tight.

“Hrn, my head.”

“They took him, Crowley. They’re going to kill him, we have to do something. I can't I...I don't have any abilities. I’m _only_ immortal I'm not a _god_. I can't do anything. But-but you, you know these stupid people, their stupid ways, you know the town, you might be able to--"

Crowley put a hand on Beelzebub's shoulder, “They took him.”

“...yeah.”

He looked over at the ground, where his wooden crown had fallen. “They took him.”

“Crowley, there's something you don't know. His crown is what keeps him in this form. If they take it off of him, he'll change. And if he changes--”

“He won't be able to control it.”

“He'll drain the life out of everything near him.”

They could see the conflict on Crowley's face. It was the same in their own heart. Part of them wanted it to happen. The townspeople deserved no less. But Aziraphale would never forgive himself for it.

Crowley released their shoulder and put his hand to the ground. "I'm coming," he said. Then he picked up his crown and pushed to his feet.

Beelzebub followed him as he stumbled toward the stairwell.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't answer. He took one step down the stairs and suddenly they were in Aziraphale's rooms. Beelzebub stumbled with the sudden shift.

How did he do that?

They watched as Crowley made his way across the room, pushing over piles of books, baskets of parchments and pretty fabrics.

"What are you doing?"

In response, Crowley rummaged half behind Aziraphale's desk and pulled out a sword.

Beelzebub recognized it. It had been in the Below as long as they could remember.

With the sword in one hand and his crown in the other, Crowley made his way to the door. Beelzebub followed behind and the moment they stepped through they were at the Lake. That time the dizziness and nausea of moving so quickly from place to place fully hit Beelzebub. How was Crowley doing it? He shouldn't be _able_ to move through the Below that way.

Hands against their knees, Beelzebub took several deep breaths to steady their nausea and swimming vision. When they were finally able to stand upright they saw Crowley standing at the edge of the Lake. And the Lake...was white. Hundreds and hundreds of Remnants had come to the surface, one on top of the other, all of them still, all of them focused on Crowley.

"They've taken Aziraphale," Crowley said. He put the crown on his head then looked down at the sword in his hand. Beelzebub watched as bright blue flames licked up the blade.

Crowley turned to the Lake, to the Remnants.

"We're going to get him back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had that final moment drafted and living rent free in my head for LITERAL. _MONTHS_ and I'm so glad I can finally share it with y'all!  
> Your comments give me life. Also feel free to poke me on twitter or tumblr!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!  
> Would you believe me if I said I didn't realize until halfway through the week that I would be finishing my somewhat spoopy story right around Halloween? Couldn't have planned it if I tried, honestly. Probably wouldn't finish it till Xmas if I was at all trying to plan something XD
> 
> This is it friends :') . I hope you enjoy it and have a safe and fun Halloween full of all your favorite spooky things.
> 
> Big spooky fan, me.

he air around him felt pinched. Pulled tight against his skin, down his throat, holding vice-like on his lungs. The sound of the army of Remnants as they followed behind him was dull in his ears. Birds quieted as they passed beneath their branches. He didn't realize until one landed briefly on his shoulder before darting away again that the animals had joined them. A glance over his shoulder revealed that the sea of marble white Remnants was now spotted with birds flying above, brightly colored butterflies fluttering around, deer and fox and rabbits marched alongside legs and feet and scampering hands.

"How are you controlling them?" Beelzebub asked.

"I'm not," he said. "I wouldn't."

The sword felt heavy in his hands. He didn't know what he intended to do with it but it was from the Below and they were going to rescue the God Below...it just seemed like a good idea at the time. He wouldn't use it, though. He couldn't. His entire argument had been that no one had to die. He _would_ find a way to fix this without killing anyone.

He had to.

They passed the altar, the wooden pillars surrounding it seemed so small. Nothing like the towering wall he'd sat beneath, waiting for his death. He'd been so prepared to die that night, had said his goodbyes and came to terms with his life lived, only to be gifted everything he couldn't possibly think to ask for. To be shown a happiness he hadn't realized he missed. It was like a salve on a wound long since scabbed and scarred, but that ached every so often. An ache he learned to soothe and smother with every breath without a conscious thought.

Only he was aware of it now. He knew what it felt like to breathe without the whisper of a cry. He knew what it felt like to love something so unconditionally he would allow it close, close enough to hurt with the trust that it wouldn't. And he knew what it felt like to want to protect what he loved so fiercely a part of him was willing to let everything else burn.

A scream pierced the air.

Crowley broke into a run.

It wasn't Aziraphale, it _wasn’t_. One of the townspeople maybe.

The edge of the town was deserted. They must have him at the town center, maybe the meeting hall. The first sign of life he saw was Anathema. His breath of relief barely escaped him when he registered Hastur standing over her. She sat on the ground, knees to her chin while Hastur stood beside her, attention turned towards the town. He held a small knife in one hand.

Was she a prisoner?

A fresh wave of anger shuddered through Crowley. Through his chest and down his arms and legs, right into the ground, where it continued to ripple out in the form of a wave of fresh grass, sprouting thick and green. It brushed up against Anathema's foot and her gaze followed it until she spotted Crowley.

Her mouth fell open, "Oh my god..."

Hastur scoffed, "Not gonna be anybody's god for much--" He stopped short when he saw Crowley. Then his eyes widened as he seemed to fully take in what was coming toward him.

Hastur dropped his blade and ran, yelling for Gabriel.

"Crowley! You're alright? I was so scared to leave y--"

"Where is he?"

"I...back at the town center." She glanced behind him, "These are them? The Remnants?"

"Mhm."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure but you should hide."

"No! I want to help, I want--"

"Anathema, I can't explain it, but you shouldn't be here for this. I can just, I can feel it. Go back to the altar, climb on top of the table, and hide there until we come for you."

"Crowley, please," she took his free hand. "Don't leave me alone. Not again."

"Beelzebub will go with y--"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." He squeezed her hand. "It's gonna be alright, I promise."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek then made her way down the path the Remnants stepped aside to make for her.

Beelzebub looked from Crowley's face to the sword and then out to the town. "I don't know how you do what you do," they said, "but I don't really care so long as you bring him back to us."

_Us_ , Crowley thought. He wasn't sure if Beelzebub was including the Below, or the Remnants, or him, but it still felt like a small battle won.

They followed Anathema as Crowley continued on.

There were a few people hiding in their homes as he walked down the well-worn path to the town center. Their windows and doors shut loudly as he passed by. The closer he got the easier it was to make out the sound of yelling and jeering.

A crowd of people blocked the way ahead, their backs to him as they yelled. It was a cacophony of noise at first, indiscernible and angry, but as the outer edges of the crowd caught sight of him and backed off in stunned silence, he could better make out what the others were shouting.

"Fire! Try fire!"

"We have to behead it!"

These were the people he'd spent his entire life with. These were the people that in many ways had helped raise him. These were the people he'd been advocating for all these months.

Someone turned and saw him and screamed, which managed to get everyone else's attention. They tripped over each other, trying to get away from him and the Remnants. And as they cleared a path he saw, finally, Aziraphale.

He was transformed, head bowed under the weight of several thick ropes thrown over his long, long neck. One of his arms swung out at the humans holding the ropes, but he never made contact. His tail swiped and slashed at those it could reach, pulling back just short of striking. He was holding back.

The ground beneath him turned dead and decayed and even then it stopped just short of coming near any of the mortals trapping him.

He shook with the effort to keep it contained. Crowley could feel beneath his feet the ebb and flow of it. How the life started to recede toward him only to stop and slowly resettle before starting again. He wasn’t going to be able to hold it back for much longer and when his tether snapped, no one would survive.

"Told you," Hastur said. He stood off to the side, Gabriel next to him.

And in Gabriel's hand was a thin silver halo.

"That's not yours," Crowley said.

Aziraphale turned to him, a flurry of emotions running across his face. Fear, embarrassment, shame and finally, thankfully, hope.

Gabriel raised his hands in that annoying, infuriating way he did to placate but all Crowley could see was Aziraphale's crown hooked on his thumb. He was speaking but Crowley didn't listen. Instead he burrowed his feet further into the dirt, wiggling his toes a bit, feeling the connection hum stronger, run truer through him. He thought what he wanted to happen, what he wanted to ask of the Remnants. If they agreed, then they would act at his signal. He looked up at Gabriel and the man had the audacity to smile at him.

Crowley snapped his fingers.

Immediately the Remnants fanned out, the ones with the ability to do so grabbed hold of the humans, keeping them in one place, while the others created a blockade around the perimeter, preventing them from running off. Crowley knew there were others further out, hiding in their homes and he sent Remnants to them as well. Their cowardice would not be rewarded. They could have stood up to Gabriel, they could have joined Crowley when he came in, but they shut their doors and hid.

He instructed the Remnants not to harm anyone, only to surround them, keep them from leaving. As the people of the town ran and yelled and screamed, Crowley went to Aziraphale.

The god shook his head, still struggling with the ropes on his neck and wings, "Crowley, don't! You can't come near!"

He just smiled and stepped within the circle of desiccated earth and as his foot hit the ground, new life sprang up around it.

"You...you can't...how are you...?"

He knelt down beside Aziraphale, gently cupping his face with one hand, fingertips teasing at the feathers around it, "It's alright, my love." Then he kissed him. A gentle thing. A press to his lips. To his cheek. Then to the other before finding his lips once more. "It's alright."

Around them the clamor settled into more of a quiet murmur. The occasional whimper or yelp whenever a Remnant got too close. He spotted the Them, huddled off to the side. They looked confused and scared. And then there was Gabriel. Two large torsos stood on either side of him, with four pairs of legs around them.

“Crowley,” Frances said from somewhere behind him, “what is the meaning of this?”

“Frances!” He took a few steps toward her and she took a few steps back. “Frances...please we, I don’t know what Gabriel told you but no one has to die.”

“The god does.”

“...what?”

“That’s the plan, Crowley. That’s _always_ been the plan. You knew that. You had _months_ to come up with a way to kill him and then half a year to _do it_.”

"But...he's not hurting anyone."

"We'd be better off without him. Gabriel has told us of how things are in other places and--"

"You don't have to _kill him_ because you're envious of what someone else has!"

She took a breath, a sharp, final thing and simply said, "This is what the plan is, Crowley. Now step aside."

"Or what? You'll kill me too?"

Aziraphale moved at that, shifting closer to Crowley, spreading one glorious wing over him.

So that was it, then. The council was staunch in their decision. And, he looked around at the rest of the townspeople, at the fear and the disgust on their faces, no one else was going to help. He looked at the Remnants, ready and eager to do whatever he asked. His neighbors had never been cruel to him. At least, no more so than the quiet sort of cruelty indifference bears. But the Remnants, they _loved_ him. They wanted nothing more than to be near him. Little One had risked everything to seek him out. And they listened to him. They left the Below, when there was no telling what would happen if they did, to follow him, to save Aziraphale.

Adam had said his crown meant he was their champion. But it was the Remnants and the Below who needed him most.

He looked down at the sword in his hand. Its blue flames pulsed and flickered. The Below needed him. It listened to him. It spoke to him. And he spoke for it.

Crowley gasped.

And in his hand was a piece of the Below he'd brought above.

He turned to Aziraphale, “I have an idea. I don't know if it will work and if it doesn't...we may need to fight our way out of this.”

"I don't want to hurt them."

"They very much want to hurt you."

"I trust you, my dear. Whatever it is, I know you can do it. You're so very clever."

Crowley stood up straight and tall, looking out at the people gathering around them. He kept one hand buried gently in the feathers on Aziraphale’s neck.

"Let me tell you a story," he said.

Gabriel scoffed only to have a Remnant hand immediately clap over his mouth. No one else made a sound.

Little One ran up and perched on one of Aziraphale's paws.

Crowley smiled at it then lifted the blade, the cool blue flames growing brighter and fuller as he brought it to his face. "There is a town," he said. The weight of the words hung in the air. The power of them sunk into the flames, into the blade, and he grinned because he could feel in his fingers as it gripped the hilt that this would work. "It has beautiful springs, full of rain and fresh grass. Summers of sunshine and flowers. Falls that bring crisp leaves and trees heavy with fruit. But its winters," he looked out at the townspeople, "its winters are _hard_ . They are cold and they are brutal and sometimes they last for ages. But the people have learned that if they work together, if they _help one another,_ , they can make it through. And that," he let go of Aziraphale to take the sword with both hands, turning it over and raising it as high as he could, "is how it's always been." Crowley brought the sword down into the ground with all his strength, sinking to his knees with it. As it buried into the dirt a wave of blue flame erupted out. The townspeople screamed and tried to run but between the Remnants blocking their path and fighting each other in their own desperation to escape, it was no use. The blue flames washed over the area, engulfing everything, and as it passed over each person, they fell to the ground, unconscious.

Things would be different when they woke.

With his feet in the earth Crowley could feel the Remnants at the outskirts of town. They called out to the flame and it would run to reach them.

He stumbled over to Gabriel’s prone body and snatched up Aziraphale's crown. His vision wavered as he made his way back. He was tired. He was so very tired. Crowley slumped sideways to lean against Aziraphale.

“Crowley?”

“Would you be terribly offended if I asked to ride on your back?”

“Of course not, my dear.”

“Great.”

Aziraphale laid on the ground so that Crowley could drag himself up. It took every last bit of strength he had, and even then he needed the assistance of a couple of torsos to lean against and support him. When he was settled, he buried his face in the softness of Aziraphale’s back, where feathers became fur.

“Let’s go home.”

Aziraphale’s long neck twisted around and he placed a gentle kiss on Crowley’s temple, “Home.”

*

e woke in his bed. It was completely covered in flowers and grass. The entirety of the floor too. Little One lay curled up beside him. Beyond that, there was no one else in the room. He tried not to let the panic immediately take him. Aziraphale was probably fine. Just resting in his own room.

Crowley sat up and as he did Little One stirred. It ran across his legs, all over the bed, back and forth, running and jumping in excitement.

“Alright, alright," Crowley laughed. “Calm down.”

It jumped off the bed and ran toward the door. With a groan, Crowley made to follow and Little One stopped, smacking the floor.

“Oh. I should...stay here, then?”

It nodded its index finger up and down.

He slid back under the covers, his entire body aching with the movement, “No complaints here.”

Little One ran off and returned within a few moments, Aziraphale right behind.

“Oh, you _are_ awake! I wasn’t quite sure what it wanted, but I hoped the news was good.”

Crowley pulled up his legs, motioning for Aziraphale to sit. “You look good, sunshine. I was afraid…”

“I’m alright. Tip-top.” He perched on the edge of the bed, “...you?”

“Bit achy. How long was I out?”

“A few days.”

“Well then. Might be achy just from being in bed that long.”

“Indeed.”

He was tense. Worry edged at his eyes as he fiddled with with his cuffs, his buttons, his…

“You’re not wearing your gloves.”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. I...supposed there’s really no need now. No exchange and all. And I like holding your hand, I-th-that is, well if you, if we--”

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh…”

“The town?”

“Ah! Yes, well,” Crowley could already tell from the way he latched onto the topic that it wasn’t what was bothering him. “I asked Beelzebub to pop over and have a peek, see what the climate was, so to speak.”

He was still making terrible jokes though, so that was something. “And?”

“It’s a simple town. People seem alright. There's a bit of a local legend though, passed down through the generations about, apparently, a sword in the town center. It’s been there as long as they can remember, completely overgrown with vines and the like. No one seems to be able to pull it out. There’s some debate on what happens if someone _does_. Granted immense powers or...perhaps release an ancient horror. So they tend to leave it where it is.”

Crowley laughed at that, “So no one remembers?”

“Not a bit.”

“Does that bother you? Did I handle this wrong or--”

“No, no, my dear. You were wonderful.”

“Anathema!”

“She’s fine. She wasn’t affected. According to her and Beelz, the flames didn’t quite make it to the altar. She still living in town, but I do believe she’s working on building a small cottage in the woods. She doesn’t want to stay there anymore.”

“Don’t blame her.”

“Quite right. Do you know she’s roped Beelz into helping her?”

Crowley’s mouth fell open, “ _How?_ ”

“I have no idea.”

They chuckled a bit. Then fell quiet. The quiet lingered.

Crowley thought he had an idea what was bothering Aziraphale. They would have to talk about it eventually.

“Look I...I know you don’t want me to stay down here because I’m mortal and I-I get it. But I can’t go back to that town. I can’t.”

“Crowley…”

“Maybe I can stay with Anathema! I’m sure she wouldn't mind. Especially if I help build the place. Between me and her and Beelz, we should get it done before winter sets in. And I’ll be in the area then, so I can visit you and--”

“Crowley.”

“Just in the beginning! Please. Just for...a couple of months? Maybe years? I can’t just walk away and never look back, Aziraphale. I can’t. Please don’t ask me to. Just a few visits, it won’t harm--”

“Shh. Crowley, please.”

Crowley had sat up fully in the bed was working himself into a frenzy. He had to think of some way to convince Aziraphale, he just had to.

“I…” Aziraphale started and then stopped. He glanced at Crowley and tried a few more times without making it much further. Finally he let out a heavy sigh and snapped his fingers. In his other hand appeared a small mirror. “Here.”

“What?”

“Look, my dear.”

Crowley took the glass tenderly. He wasn’t sure what Aziraphale wanted him to--Oh.

Oh.

He took a deep breath.

His eyes were the same blue as Aziraphale’s.

It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t.

“Is this...this isn’t...am I…?”

“Immortal? Yes. I do believe so.”

“Wha…” He couldn’t quite look away. He tilted the mirror this way and that, as though it were merely a trick of the light and the right angle would break the effect. But no. His once brown eyes were a startling blue. “How?”

“I’m not sure. I have theories, of course.”

“Do you think it’s because I saved you?”

“My dear I think it’s because you spared _them_.”

“Oh.”

He continued to move the mirror around. He felt similar to the way he had when he’d pulled the marked stick on Drawing Day, or when he waited at the altar, even when he waited to meet Aziraphale once he was in the Below, a little hint of concern but overall, well it was what it was, wasn’t it? He couldn’t change it and there didn’t seem much point in letting it stress him. Everything had turned out alright so far.

And besides… the color was starting to grow on him, really. Looked great with his hair.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“You...seem to be taking this quite well?”

“Eh. I’m sure it’ll hit me in a couple of decades and I’ll have a proper meltdown but right now I don’t feel any different. Right _now_ ,” he looked up at Aziraphale with a grin, “I can focus on us. On you. I can stay, Aziraphale!”

“But I can’t ask you to stay here, in the Below…”

Crowley felt a bit of his excitement drain away. “Why not?”

“You belong to the world above, Crowley! I’m...I’m still the god Below. Fates only know what that means now, if I’m not doing the exchange. Watch over the Remnants and the Lake, I suppose. Either way I can’t leave here, Crowley. You can. And you should. You should travel and explore and forage and climb treacherously steep cliffs now that I know you won’t snap your neck.”

“I mean I could. It just won’t kill me.”

Aziraphale’s face paled. “Why would you _say that?”_

He shrugged, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, “Cause it’s true?”

“Oh you are just, oh! Never mind that. You belong above.” He took a deep breath, his voice going soft. “I’m...I’m sure you can visit from time to time. I’d, well I’d rather like it if you did. But I can’t ask you to stay here. This crown marks me as the god Below and with that I have certain respo--”

“The crown.”

“Hmm? Yes, the crown is what--”

“No, the crown. _My_ crown.”

“What?”

Crowley began patting the bed frantically, searching for it. “Where is it? Where is it?”

“The table,” Azirpahale said. “Just there. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted it, given where it came from but I thought it best to keep it so that you could decide if--”

“Oh I want it. I need it.” He grabbed the crown from the bedside table, his legs flailing as he scrambled to get out of the bed. He stumbled a bit once he was standing and Aziraphale jumped up to steady him.

“Crowley!”

“I’m fine. Little wobbly, that’s all. Come with me, we’re going upstairs.”

“I don’t understand.”

Crowley took his hand, already leading him out of the room. “That morning! It was the crown.”

“You’re not making any sense, _what_ was the crown?”

He didn’t elaborate. It would be better to show him. It would work. It would work.

“Where’s Beelz?” Crowley asked as they climbed the steps.

“With Anathema, I imagine. Something about scouting for the perfect spot for her new home.”

“Oh. Well, we can show them later.”

“Show them _what_?”

At the top of the stairs Aziraphale stopped within the shadow of the overhang. Crowley stood just on the other side. He couldn’t stop grinning.

“...what now?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley set the wooden crown on Aziraphale’s head, gently nestling it among his curls, and took a step back.

Aziraphale stared at him, no less confused.

“Alright. Now we need…” He looked around but the table was bare. He moved to the nearest tree and placed a hand against the trunk. It was just the smallest question, a suggestion of how to rearrange things a bit, stretch a little further, and just like that one of the branches grew longer, thicker, and arched down toward Crowley. An apple blossomed like a flower just within reach and he plucked it free.

“How did you _do that?_ ”

“I asked.”

“But...that’s not an apple tree.”

“So?” He held the apple out, “Here.”

“Crowley...you...you _know_ what’s going to happen if--”

He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and lifted it up. He placed the apple in it, letting his fingertips linger for just a moment, and then let go.

The apple remained pristine and red and so very alluring.

Aziraphale’s face contorted into something a bit amazed and a bit horrified.

“What? I, gosh you’d think I’d get tired of asking this but, how did you do that? Is it because you created it? It’s--”

“Nope. S’not a magic apple. S’just an apple.”

“But. I don’t. Why isn’t it. How is it.”

“My crown,” Crowley said, using everything bit of control he had not to bounce and run and jump around and scream it from the highest points. “My crown. The morning after we slept together, what did I call it when I put it on your head?”

“You--” He saw the realization hit him. “You said it was a crown of life,” Azirpahale whispered.

“And the Below makes my wants reality, doesn’t it?”

“I...and...that works? Up here?”

“Did in the town, didn’t it? I spoke my desire to the sword and made it real.”

The poor god looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Crowley held out his hand. Aziraphale looked from it to the shadow just beyond the toes of his shoes. With a gulp, he placed his free hand in Crowley’s and stepped out.

For a moment neither one of them moved. But when no lightning came down from the sky and destroyed everything around, Crowley let out a giddy breath.

“How do you feel?”

“I...fine. Normal. I don’t, I don’t feel weak. I don’t,” he laughed, “there’s no tug of life. I’m not draining anything or-or trying to keep from draining anything, I’m not, it’s not,” his voice broke.

Crowley squeezed his hand while reaching up with the other to brush away a tear. “What would you say to a walk? Hmm? Let’s go find us the witch of the woods.”

“Oh...my dear that sounds lovely but first…”

“Hmm?”

He looked down at the apple in his hand. Crowley watched as he took a large bite. He barely heard the crunch of it over Aziraphale’s satisfied moan, his eyes fluttering shut, juice from the apple trickling down his chin. He knew for the rest of their lives together he would be the one to watch Aziraphale eat now, he would never tire of getting to see him experience the taste of new foods, of relishing discovered favorites. They could travel now, even. Maybe get Beelz to babysit. Crowley knew he couldn’t bring himself to be away from the Remnants for long but they could take turns! Each spending time out and in the world, coming back to describe what they experienced, to share stories, bring souvenirs and mementos. The Below would make new rooms for all of their new interests. There were so many options and so many life times before them to explore them all.

The two immortals walked hand-in-hand through the woods, a trail of apple cores in their wake.

T H EE N D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I can't believe it's over! I had so much fun working on this story and I hope y'all enjoyed it! In the early stages I struggled really hard with an ending that left everyone happy lol, I hope this works! Please feel free to leave comments, they are my life source.
> 
> Now if you're thinking to yourself, "Gosh, I sure hope the next long piece Jace writes is a semi-futuristic, pseudo-magicpunk enemies-to-lovers with a Dark Aziraphale" then you're in luck! And if you weren't thinking that then...surprise?? *jazz hands*
> 
> It's gonna be a few weeks before that one drops so definitely subscribe if you want to know when it lands! Also I'll be posting some one shots and shorter works in the mean time that have been patiently waiting their turn. And [Lonely AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585628) is going to keep going as well! You can also find me on Tumblr and Twitter (linked below) ((haha BELOW)) (((ill see my self out))) for updates and the like! Don't hesitate to poke me here or on any of those platforms, I love chatting with y'all :D.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tfw_thevoid) !  
> Also you can find me on [tumblr](https://kreauxlighe.tumblr.com/) now!


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